


Missing

by WildandFreed94



Series: Missing verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Altnerate Universe, Family Bonding, Gen, Missing verse, POV Alternating, Series, Supernatural - Freeform, faith - Freeform, family don't end with blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 42,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildandFreed94/pseuds/WildandFreed94
Summary: AU. When John Winchester fails to return from a hunt, his friends Caleb and Jim spring into action. When the results are not what they expected, it is up to them to forge ahead, and create beauty from the ashes of tragedy, and raise Sam and Dean. Family don't end in blood.
Series: Missing verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785085
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Blue Earth, Minnesota**

_**1984** _

Patience was a virtue, but it was an emotion _best_ suited for the mentally sound. It was not a feeling that particularly suited the harried man who was pacing around his secluded study nestled into his home that was right next to his church. As pastor of Blue Earth community church, Jim Murphy had seen and heard a lot of things that had gotten the better of him emotionally, but there was nothing quite like not being able to locate someone. Especially someone who hunted supernatural evil for a living. Pacing in his study, his scarred fingers coming to rest on his chin, Jim sat back down on his old study chair, and perused the aged address book. Mostly hunting contacts, and the occasional church parishioner who needed some help.

Crossing out names that meant little to him, and mentally making a note in his mind to update the book at a more appropriate time, he quickly found what he was searching for, and picked up the phone. The dial tone sounded incessantly in his ear, until the automated message came on, informing him to leave a message. He did not. Instead, he slammed the receiver down, and palmed his face. This was not turning out how he initially thought when he began his hasty search. Usually, with hunters, a no-show or a missed call, was nothing to be concerned about. However, it was the nature of this situation that was so troubling to the pastor.

New hunters typically rushed into the fire without much forethought to what could happen to them. They were brazen, bold, and reckless. These traits were exactly what got so many of them killed in their first year or so of hunting down supernatural evil. It was what Jim had seen happen to so many people that he mentored over the years. For some reason, he thought that _maybe_ things could be different with the older hunter that he met the year before, on a cold and bitter winter afternoon. John Winchester had come like a storm into his life that fateful night-bringing with him a sign of hope in the form of his two precious little boys who had been caught up in the whirlwind of hunting after their mother passed.

John was typical of people who had been inducted into the unforgiving nature of the job. He was eager to find the monster who had murdered his wife, but he was also just as impatient to learn the tricks of the trade and find a way to protect his boys. Jim remembered, with a quiet sigh as he dug through his address book, the way that five-year-old Dean had clung to his baby brother's hand, who was situated in John's arms. He recalled the way that Dean regarded him with distrust that was not at all typical of a toddler. Pausing on a promising name in his book, he chuckled when he thought about Sam, innocently babbling something incoherent in his Dad's arms, and how he was trying his best to imitate whatever Dean was doing in that moment.

They were too young to be indoctrinated into this harsh and cruel world of hunting evil. It was a world that often left no survivors, and the children of those people, were often left to fend for themselves. In that instant, a steel resolve assailed Jim's senses as he realized that he would not be one of those people who would let the children brave the cruelty of the world by themselves.

Circling the name of his friend and contact in the hunting world, Jim sighed deeply before picking up the phone and dialing. He had an idea that it was late in the town of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but he was a desperate man. When he listened beyond the dial tone, he could hear the sounds of the cartoons playing in the living room, and Dean educating his brother in what the characters were doing. It was for them that he was the most worried, and in that instant, he felt a surge of anger at John for not checking in like he knew he was supposed to. For leaving his boys hanging like he was. Dean, for all that he was doing in focusing on his brother, had to know that something wasn't quite right. Usually, Jim could be counted to be out in the living room with the boys, casually making remarks about the cartoons they were watching.

Palming his face before slamming that same hand down on the desk, he exhaled in relief when the call finally connected. For all of his independence in the hunting life, he knew there were some days when help was needed, and this was one of those times.

 _"Who the hell is calling this late?_ The exasperated voice of Bobby Singer groused.

Jim had known Bobby for over fifteen years, and his expertise in the hunting world, was legendary. Besides being one of the best hunters he personally knew, he also had near perfect knowledge of any bad thing that he might be facing. It was for this reason that Bobby had practically started his own side business mentoring other hunters in need.

"Bobby, it's Jim." He tried to disguise the worry in his voice, without much success. "It's-it's...John. He left the boys with me about a week ago to go find something. I haven't heard from him since he got there." Those words coming out of his mouth sounded foreign to him. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth that he knew would be hard to get rid of.

There was a slight pause before Bobby spoke next. He didn't have to ask why Jim was calling as late as he was when he heard it was about John and the boys. It was one of the reasons why Jim had called him first. A cartoon-sounding explosion interrupted the brief silence, and was rapidly followed by Dean's laughter, and his quiet voice explaining to his brother what had just happened.

_"What was he hunting?"_

Jim looked down at the papers that he had gotten together about the hunt. It was from what he could piece together from the little John had given him. Even though he trusted him with his two sons, he apparently did not see the need to trust him with his hunting trip. "It looks like a simple haunting. In and out."

_"Poltergeist?"_

"No, doesn't appear to be that. Looks like a psychotic ghost."

In the background, he could hear a soft _thud_ and Bobby's swift curse, before the elder hunter got back on the phone. _"Have you called anybody else?"_

Jim shook his head. "Not yet. I was thinking of giving Caleb a call, see if he maybe had heard from him."

That was the best situation he could come up with at short notice: Caleb was a younger hunter who was remarkably skilled for only having been in the life for a few years. Not only that, but he was close to the place where John had started his hunt. If there was anyone he trusted to help him beside Bobby, Caleb Rivers would be the one to call.

_"Yeah, that's a good idea. He might know somethin' we don't. In the meantime, I'll dig my nose in and call some folks around here."_

Jim nodded, already feeling slightly better at the prospect of finally getting some answers. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Bobby."

Hanging up with Bobby, Jim leaned against his desk, rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes, and flipped through his aged address book for the number he was looking for. He had no doubt that Caleb would be more than willing to help-he also had a relationship with John, and adored his two boys. Finding his number located near the back of the book, he made a mental note to reorganize his book, before he heard the _pitter_ - _patter_ of little feet coming in.

"Unko Jim?" Dean sucked on his bottom lip as he hovered in the doorway to the private study. Dean barely suppressed a yawn, as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "Where's Daddy?" While Dean had not necessarily asked that question a ton of times, Jim knew that it was on his heart. Anytime John left the boys with him for an extended period of time, he always wanted to know where his daddy was and when he would be coming back.

Forcing a smile on his face, he crossed the room in a single stride, and bent down to Dean's level. "He's out, Dean. He'll be back soon, kiddo."

Dean nodded slowly, and Jim could see the wheels turning in his mind as he processed the information. "When?"

"I don't know when," Jim replied patiently. "What I do know is that he's helping some very lucky people right now."

There was no way he would burden Dean with the knowledge that he might be faced with losing both of his parents in the span of less than a year. Tuning his ears to the living room, he could hear wooden blocks clang together as Sam tried to build a tower. Dean heard him, too, and turned his head slightly. It was amazing to Jim how in-sync Dean was with his little brother. It was almost as though he shared a soul with his brother that had been born out of the trauma they had both endured in their lives.

"Sammy's hungwy," Dean stated. "I heard his tummy growl." He made an exaggerated monster voice to illustrate his point.

Jim chuckled softly. "Okay, let's go feed him together, then. Do you think he'd like some carrots and apple sauce?"

Dean nodded once, but then shook his head as they approached the living room. "He will. _I_ won't."

"How about some hamburger for you?" Jim asked, a knowing smile appearing on his face. "After all, a dinosaur needs to eat a lot of meat, right?"

Dean considered this statement for a moment. "I guess so."

Once the (very) messy dinner was cleaned up and both boys had been taken upstairs to complete their bedtime ritual, and were safely tucked into their own beds, Jim finally returned downstairs to face the inevitable task ahead of him. He returned to his study, and kept the door slightly ajar so he would be made aware if the boys were to awaken. He picked up the phone with dread settling into his heart. Every part of him was screaming at him that this was not a good thing that was going on. John had been gone for too long with no contact.

 _"Jim?"_ Caleb's quiet voice came over the phone; he sounded tired. _"Is everything...okay?"_

"Caleb, I'm sorry to call you so late. I just...I have a situation here, and I didn't know what else to do."

 _"What's the situation?"_ Caleb heaved a big yawn.

"John," Jim explained, stroking the page of his address book absently. "He left about a week ago to do a spirit hunt. I haven't heard from him since he got there. He's not responding."

There was a lag on the other end of the line, and Jim knew that Caleb had fully woken up when he processed those words. While Caleb had an easy relationship with John, there was a certain tension between them because of how he chose to live his life when he had two children. It was why John often recruited Jim to watch the boys when he could. The pastor could only imagine the kind of thoughts floating through Caleb's head.

 _"Where are the boys?"_ He sounded annoyed, even irritated.

"They're with me."

_"Good. Listen, ah, where was the hunt?"_

"Around your neck of the woods. Just right outside Dallas."

_"Yeah, I'll go check it out, Jim. It's on my way to round up some more munition."_

Jim was relieved; it meant that he had a capable partner who was willing to assist, even though he barely could contain his disapproval at how the boys were being treated. He hung up with Caleb after supplying him with the information he would need to find the hunting location. It was then that he realized how tired he was. The search had taken up more time than he thought, and the emotional toll had been just as bad. He was more than ready to go to bed, and did so after checking on the boys. They were both sound asleep, their little bodies blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil the pastor was facing.


	2. Chapter 2

Owning and operating his own weapons dealing business allowed Caleb Rivers to lead a somewhat truthful life. It was nice to be able to show police a legitimate license when they would, inevitably, show up at his door, demanding some kind of proof that he wasn't simply some arms loving fool. His shop, nestled in a quiet suburb of Dallas, was also useful for storing some of his more outlandish hunting tools that he kept in the basement. There were some things that he could not afford to keep in his truck, not when the police would discreetly glance through the tinted window.

Hunting was a life that he knew nothing about _before_ he got into it, but he supposed that was the way it was with most people in the life. It took him awhile to learn the tricks, and to learn how to investigate cases safely without tipping off police before he got a chance to get away. His pregnant wife had been murdered by a demon, and before he got his start with Bill and Ellen Harvelle, he remembered being blind with the rage that he felt, and wanted desperately to catch the thing responsible. It still hadn't happened, but that didn't stop him from devoting his life to hunting as many of the bad things as he could.

While he generally had a good relationship with other hunters, he liked to keep to himself. The friendships he developed, were ones that were few and far between, and the ones he intended on protecting at all costs. The only exception to that hard and fast rule, was John Winchester. The new hunter had come into his shop one cold morning, and brought with him two little boys. He had been looking for a stockpile of munition to get him from one state to the next, and also a little something to start training his oldest. Caleb tried his hardest to be professional about his opinion, but it was hard for him to maintain that level of removal when he thought about the boys.

Especially when John let it slip that he let them stay in seedy motel rooms by themselves, when he couldn't line up a babysitter. It was all Caleb could do sometimes to keep his thoughts to himself. He knew it wasn't his place to argue, and while he didn't agree with leaving two small boys alone in bad parts of town, he also figured that John would probably not allow him to see them if he tried to seriously interfere. For all the smarts that John had, he was new to the game, and was not as intelligent when it came to hesitating before rushing into the line of fire. That was why Caleb was not surprised to get a phone call from his old friend, Jim Murphy, explaining the situation.

He was relieved to know that Sam and Dean were safe with Jim, and the hunt was close to a part of the town he was traveling to in order to pick up more munitions. As Caleb drove down the interstate and headed deeper into parts of the state that he wasn't completely familiar with, he tried to tame the irritation that he felt at John. It was no secret that the two of them did not enjoy the easiest relationship because of his barely kept disdain at John leaving the boys, and this was only further proof that something needed to change. After all, what would have happened had Sam and Dean been left alone again?

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he took a long gulp from his energy drink, and made a mental note to pick up some coffee. Energy drinks only went so far when hunting the supernatural. He needed something lasting. Getting into the exit lane, he smoothly arrived in Ellis County. Driving through the streets, he glanced at the shops that looked like they had seen better days. Stopping at a red light, he used the brief pause to go over what the plan would be. The best outcome would be to find John, and reunite him with his sons, but he was also acutely aware of the other outcome. Driving through the adjacent town of Terrell, it was not hard to find a small motel.

Loading everything that he would need to conduct his investigation into a large duffel bag, he strode into the front office. It was empty apart from one customer, and a man who looked like he might fall asleep at any second. The man looked up when Caleb's shadow fell over him.

"What'll it be?" He drawled, sitting up straighter in his seat. A hunting magazine slid off his lap and landed on the carpeted floor.

"One room. Single bed."

"That'll be three-fifty."

Caleb nodded, before paying in cash. He never liked to carry around credit cards if he could avoid it. Especially because he had had issues with the police in the past involved supposed credit card fraud. Silently taking the key the man offered him, he could not help but wonder if this man had maybe seen or heard something from John Winchester.

"Do you get a lot of people?" Caleb asked, forcing a casual tone to his voice, while he pretended to be interested in a bear head on the wall.

"Some locals, and some folks just ridin' on through." The man looked up at him, as though suddenly realizing that he was definitely _not_ a local. "Why do you ask?"

"Just looking for a friend of mine. He might have come by here, oh, about a week or so ago? He might have been wearing a leather jacket, and was unshaven?"

Caleb could see the wheels turning in the man's eyes, and did not like the thought of where this was going. "I might have seen something. But I work _really_ long hours, so it might be hard for me to remember much-"

"Are you _serious_?"

He was desperate, and this man would not get in the way of him finding his lost friend. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he was about to fish out some cash, before he noticed a young woman standing next to him. She had been the customer he had seen when he first walked in.

"Are you talking about the man who was driving the old Impala?" She blushed slightly. "I'm sorry, I'm just kind of a fanatic about cars."

Caleb nodded. "Yeah, black Chevy Impala."

She nodded, before gesturing for him to follow her to the back of the room, where they would not be overheard by prying ears. "I saw him."

"When was this?"

"About eight days ago. I had just checked in here for a little me time, and I saw him. Kind of intimidating." She gave a nervous chuckle.

"Yeah, well, he sorta has that effect on people."

The woman paused, as though weighing whether or not she should divulge more. "I overheard him asking questions about Terrell. Here, we have our stories, and some are better than others."

Caleb raised an eyebrow, definitely not expecting this woman to be the wealth of information that she was. "I appreciate it. Believe me."

"He was staying in room 1A. It was the one a few doors down from mine."

That was the last missing piece of the puzzle that Caleb had been waiting for. It was a rare stroke of luck that he managed to land himself in the exact motel establishment where John was. After thanking the woman, he deposited his things his own room, before taking the short walk to the room the woman mentioned. Peeking through the blinds, he could see no signs of life anywhere. Taking out his lock pick kit, Caleb quietly eased the door open and stepped inside.

The first thing that caught his attention was the smell. It was as though no one had bothered to clean for days, and there was also the smell of rotted food somewhere. This did nothing to soothe Caleb's nerves about the whole situation. He took another step in, and closed the door. On one wall, a bed was hastily made, and a nightstand bore the signs of a fast food dinner. It was the wall across from the bed that caught Caleb's eye next. The wall had been turned into a mini-research destination, complete with articles that had been pinned to the wall of the hunt that he was on.

Taking a closer look at the information spread out before him, Caleb could see the gravity of the situation laid out before him. It was exactly the kind of hunt that the woman had accidentally described to him in the office, and the very one that John was attempting to solve. Bringing his hand to his chin, he knew that any newbie in the life should be able to successfully complete a hunt of this magnitude, but it was the fact that John had left so much of his research behind that worried him, and the fact that he had left so suddenly.

Sighing deeply, he turned away from the research, and turned on a lamp. The room was lit from natural light, but he needed more to see. It was when the soft light illuminated the room, that he saw the one thing that he could not believe he was seeing. A thick journal that had been pushed halfway under the bed. Picking it up gently, he leafed through the contents of the book. John had gotten it from a friend back in Kansas, and he never went anywhere without the thing. Finding the journal was almost as bad, in Caleb's mind, of finding John's body. He would never willingly leave the journal for an enemy to find.

* * *

"Unko Jim?" Dean asked, chewing the last of his lunch. It had been a quiet morning that had culminated in playing outside with the football, before coming back inside to calm down and have lunch. The child had been quiet for most of his meal, only speaking when spoken to, or when Sam babbled to him. "Is Daddy... _lost_?" His hazel eyes were downcast as his mind thought over all this.

Jim paused, one sippy cup in hand, and a small plastic cup in the other. He had been avoiding directly addressing the topic of John's disappearance. It was just something that he didn't believe a five-year-old should have to handle. However, he knew that Dean was smarter than the average child, and had seen much more than any child have had to seen in his short life. That experience had aged him emotionally, and Jim hated that.

"Dean...do you remember uncle Caleb?" Dean and Caleb had been fortunate to share a close relationship since first meeting.

Dean nodded, accepting the plastic Dinosaur cup Jim held out to him. "I 'wike him. I can talk to him."

Jim nodded, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "That's right. So, he's helping your daddy with his job right now. Okay?"

"My daddy needed help?"

Jim shrugged one shoulder. "Sometimes, we all need a little help. So hopefully, your daddy will be back soon."

"You're doing it wrong." Dean had been observing Jim try (without success) to feed Sam the last dregs of his pasta.

Jim chuckled, before setting the airplane-shaped spoon down. Sam used that opportunity to shovel his hands into the pasta to try to get the spoon. The mess was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been plaguing Jim's mind since he last heard from Caleb. "Oh, I am? Do you want to finish feeding him?"

Dean nodded. "Yes!" He took the messy spoon from Sam's messy hands, and expertly maneuvered the spoon using exaggerated airplane noises. It worked like a charm, and Sam happily slurped up the last of his pasta.

"You're really good with him."

Dean nodded, shrugging. "I like him."

"You _like_ him?" Jim barely suppressed a laugh.

"Sometimes," Dean explained, as Sam gurgled happily. "He can make me mad."

"I think all little brothers can do that."

"Yeah," Dean replied seriously.

After lunch was successfully completed and Sam had been put down for his nap, and Dean was settled in the living room with a super-sized coloring book, Jim stealthily retreated to his office, where he knew that Caleb was scheduled to call him. It would be the first contact since Caleb had arrived in the town of Terrell. The last he knew, he had reached the motel where John was staying. After that, he was going to try to make contact with the couple John had been helping. Caleb was a skilled hunter who was quick on his feet, and also had the people skills needed to manipulate his way to an answer.

It was hard to give over the control and not be there to help out, but he also knew that he could not be in two places at once. Bringing his hands to his head in a steepled position, he prayed that there would be something positive. He wasn't sure how the boys would handle losing both parents in less than a year. Especially Dean, who was already carrying the death of his mother on his young shoulders. Sitting at his desk, he stared at the phone, as though willing it to ring. When it did, he hesitated, not sure if he could emotionally handle whatever Caleb was about to say.

"Caleb," he sighed. "What did you find out?"

_"The hunt is what he said it was. I don't know much about it yet, but the research seems to point in a spirit direction."_

"So what's next?"

_"I have a meeting with the couple that he was helping. An older couple. But, uh, Jim?"_

There was an edge to Caleb's tone that Jim did not like, and with it he could detect that something had gone wrong, or was wrong. "What is it?"

_"I found his journal. That thing he never leaves anywhere? I found it in the motel room just a bit ago."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day! Also, do you prefer two POV's? Or just one?


	3. Chapter 3

Over the years since Caleb had been actively involved in the hunting lifestyle, he had learned many tricks of the trade, and that included his interview skills, and how he approached different sorts of people. No one person was the same, and he had to tread lightly so as not to tip them off that there was anything out of the ordinary about their loved one's death. It was with this same attitude that he was now using to approach a neighborhood that was supposed to house the woman John had been helping.

A trip to the local library had revealed a plethora of potential information that was now burning in the back of his mind as he scanned the affluent homes, looking for the one that had seen its fair share of tragedy over the years. As he drove, he absently sipped his coffee and tried to distance himself as much as possible from the vast feelings that he was experiencing related to the case. It was always hard for Caleb to separate his feelings from the hunt. He supposed it was both a blessing _and_ a curse to have the kind heart that he did. It blinded him sometimes, but it also helped him with relating to the victims and their family.

It was also why he could feel his heart soar with rage at the thought of another supernatural evil taking yet another life, and possibly the life of his friend. During his last call with Jim, the pastor had mentioned how Dean was struggling with the confusion he felt about his father. It was not like John to just simply abandon the boys without even checking in by phone. Caleb could definitely understand the mixed emotions that a five-year-old would have to be feeling. In that moment, he was grateful that Sam was as young as he was, and not able to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Pulling into a cracked driveway, he paused, mentally collecting the cover story that he would use, and got out. There were few lights on inside, but when he listened briefly, he could hear the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. Ringing the bell, he waited with held breath. It was never a given how an interview would go, especially one where a death was recent. It was why he was glad that this type of detective work was in his blood, given that his father was an investigator for the Dallas PD.

Before too long, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and the door was opened to reveal an elderly woman, who regarded him with surprise. "Can I _help_ you?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yes, Ma'am," Caleb said, slipping into his role with apparent ease. "I'm Caleb Warren; I'm a reporter for the Tribune. I was assigned to cover the unsolved cases here, and I was wondering if you could help me?"

The woman looked at him, before glancing down at his pocket. "Do you have one of those press ID thingy's?"

Caleb had been expecting that, and that was why he had taken care to snatch his (long) container of fake ID's before leaving for this trip. He showed her his picture through the veiled screen door. The woman scrutinized the picture for a second, before looking up at him to make sure that his picture matched the face she was seeing. Finally, it seemed, he had won at least some of her trust, because she held the door open for him. Giving her a grateful smile, he stepped into the dimly lit home, and glanced around at the décor. At first glance, he could tell that this was a woman who was still in mourning.

Pictures of her deceased husband adorned the walls, and also those of her two grandchildren. It was hard to imagine so much tragedy befalling one human being, but Caleb had definitely heard of it before. Supernatural evil was no respecter of feelings, or common decency. If it was, his case load would almost certainly be chopped in half.

"This is a lovely home," Caleb remarked, as she led him into a sitting room.

"Thank you," she said, making herself comfortable. "Now, why is the Tribune interested in what happened here?"

"We're just featuring a story on the unsolved cases here, and since this case happens to be one of the oldest, and most... _peculiar_ , we were hoping to give it some new life." It had definitely caught Caleb's attention as he painstakingly went through the old town records on microfiche at the library.

"So," she said, shaking her head as though time still had not eased the burden on her heart. "What do you want to know?"

"Well," Caleb said, looking down at his notes. "Have you heard what the press have dubbed this incident?"

The woman, Miss Zelda, nodded her head darkly. "Oh, I've heard. The Candy Killerl."

Caleb nodded, trying to show her as much sympathy as he could. "When I was researching this case, one of the articles mentioned that the husband of Clara Crane, had accidentally poisoned one of their daughters. She was overcome with grief, and so she turned around and did the same thing." Caleb knew he had to tread lightly now. "After that? Several other children came up missing, or turned up dead."

Miss Zelda nodded, though she was hesitant. "This town has had its fair share of folklore and misinformation."

"What was false?"

"He didn't _accidentally_ kill that poor child. He was overcome with rage, jealousy, because that woman had an affair, and was about ready to leave." She paused in her story to offer Caleb a biscuit, which he took. "Well, in those days, you can well imagine how something like that would have gone off. He simply wouldn't allow her to take their child, and get away with what she had done, and so he took care of things."

"And he _killed_ his daughter?"

Miss Zelda nodded. "He did indeed. Of course, the blame was placed on the mother, and she was implicated in the murder of her child. The police had a job of investigating this crime when the press was in their ear. In those days, the press didn't care about truth as much as they cared for making everything as salacious as they could."

"Sort of like what they do now?"

Miss Zelda nodded. "You can say that."

"So what happened after that?"

Caleb had a vague picture of what transpired after Clara Crane was officially charged with murder, but it never hurt to have the perspective of someone who had eyes and ears in this small town. It was one of the more bizarre cases he had ever worked, and he could see why John had been so keen on investigating it. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest for a reason that he could not explain.

"She was tried and convicted. Of course, her husband got off without a smidgen to his name. Clara Crane was sentenced to the asylum here. It's my understanding that she died there."

"And then after?" Caleb prodded gently, knowing that this particular part of the story was why so many articles had been written about the case. "Something else started to happen, right?"

"You can say that," she replied testily. "So after her funeral, children started turning up dead. The common denominator? Police found missing teeth on all the children, and rotted candy with said teeth in it. Some of the children had received notes before they died, and that was all taken into account."

"Did they ever figure out who was doing all this?"

"The police tried to solve it, but it's gone unsolved. Of course, folks in this town believe that it was Victor Crane, maybe overcome with rage or guilt and he took it out on the wrong people. We never did find out. The theorists have speculated that it was some manifestation of her spirit, but that's a bunch of hokey."

If only she knew the suspicions Caleb had, and what he had seen in his line of work. He knew that more than likely it was the (extremely) angry spirit of Clara Crane that was wreaking havoc on the town, and he wasn't at all sure that her questionable ex-husband had anything to do with these string of killings. He knew that his next series of questions would undoubtedly be difficult for Zelda to dive into. When questioning someone about their loss, he always tried to be as gentle as he could, and as sensitive as he could.

"Ma'am...I need to know what happened _here_. Something happened to your husband, right? And your two grandchildren?"

She shook her head. "Is this going to be some feature in your story?"

"Ma'am, did something happen?" Caleb repeated, deflecting her question.

She stood up then, and began pacing the room. Her hands twisted around each other as she walked the length of the room, and started again. "My husband, he was a good man. An _excellent_ man." It seemed important to her that she make that fact understood.

"Of course he was. I just need to have an understanding of what took place."

"I wasn't here," she answered, taking a long pull from a glass of whiskey. "I got a call from the police."

"And what did they say?" His pen was poised, ready to jot down anything of note.

Once she told him, he prepared himself for the next question. "And your grandchildren?"

Zelda poured herself another glass, her eyes falling on yet another framed photograph of the brother and sister. They looked young, and those were the kinds of cases that always pulled at Caleb's heartstrings. It wasn't enough that supernatural evil preyed on adults on a regular basis, but they had to inflict their torment on some poor child.

"They started feeling sick one day, so they were taken to the hospital. After they were placed on life support, the doctors noticed that some of their teeth were gone, and you know what was so strange?" She wobbled slightly, as she came to sit back down. "They found candy wrappers in their pockets, both of them."

"Did it have any writing on it?" Caleb knew from his library trip that the children were often discovered with candy wrappers in their pockets with a specific message.

Zelda nodded. "It said, "children, enjoy your candy.""

The final and last question was the one that Caleb was most eager to get to. "Did anyone else come to see you? Maybe a reporter from another paper? It would have been in the last week or so?"

Zelda nodded. "As a matter of fact."

Caleb could feel his breath catch painfully in his throat. It was a lucky break, and he was not about to take advantage of that. "And what did he look like?"

"Oh, he was about yea high," she demonstrated, using her hand. "He was unshaven, and he had on one of those leather jackets."

That was John. "When was this?" This information would be critical to finding John, and maybe solving the case that he had started.

"This was about...four days ago. It would have been right before the funerals."

Caleb thanked her for her time, and left. He had gotten all the information that he could have gotten, and now was the time to _do_ something with that information. Getting into his car, he paused before starting it up and driving back down the street he had come from. In hunting, timing was everything. It was crucial when going to dig up a grave after dark, and when talking to certain people in authority, and it was essential when considering how long a hunter had been missing. For all he knew, the spirit of Clara Crane was directly responsible for his disappearance, and he was lying in a ditch somewhere. It was those unknowns that haunted him as he drove in the direction of his motel.

As a hunter, Caleb lived by a certain code, and that included never cluing the police to a disappearance of a fellow hunter unless it was absolutely necessary. He knew he would have to figure this one out by himself, and he knew that starting with the local hospitals would be the next move to make. He hated having to resort to this measure, but he didn't see any other option. As the hours and days passed, it was becoming increasingly evident that John had been unwillingly taken out of the hunt that he was doing. Once he made it back to his motel and was safely inside, he started manning the phones. Balancing the motel-issued phone book on his legs, he called each hospital one by one. No one seemed to have any information on the missing father.

It was easy to allow frustration to seep into his system, but he wouldn't allow it to happen. He had two boys to think of, and all he wanted was to reunite them with their father, but reality was also pressing dangerously close. He had just about done all he could to find him alive, and now he was having to consider an alternative that made him want to vomit. Flipping to the part of the phone book he never wanted to discover, his finger hovered over the number of the county morgue. He thought about calling Jim and filling him in on what he had found out, but he also didn't want to cause any undue stress unless it was warranted. Picking up the phone, he hesitated, before punching in the number.

He had gone to many morgues over the years to work on cases, and it never bothered him much. Either he had grown numb to the sight of dead people, or it was the nature of the job. Either way, he knew that he would have very different feelings about this particular trip, if he had to make one. After talking to the person who was on the line, and giving identifying information about John, he waited with bated breath. It was the longest few seconds of his entire life, and he could almost imagine the hand on the clock pausing to tease him. Bowing his head, he tried to keep a lid on his emotions. It would not help anyone or anything if he gave into all that he had been grappling with.

_"Sir, we do have a deceased individual here, who matches the description you provided. Would you mind coming here to make a formal identification?_ _"_

Caleb shook his head, feeling his stomach twist into knots. "No, no, I'll be right there."

 _"Just make sure you bring your ID with you,"_ the woman said, her tone softening.

"Sure thing."

Hanging up the phone, he had the irrational urge to punch something. It was exactly the worst case scenario that he had envisioned after he first got the call from Jim about John's disappearance. Over the years, he had seen many acquaintances die in this life, but he never thought it would happen to someone like John. Even though he was so new to hunting, he had proven to be a quick study, and was wanting to get as much training and information as he could. As he picked up the phone again to call Jim, his mind flashed to Sam and Dean. He could not fathom the idea of telling them that their father was dead. It was too cruel, too horrible to imagine. As the dial tone sounded in his ear, he knew that more than likely, he would be having that conversation with them.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, Jim," Caleb sighed.

_"Did you-what have you found?"_

What _hadn't_ he found was the proper question to ask.

"I talked to the woman that he was helping. She was pretty informative, and gave me some information about the case, anyway."

_"That's great. Did she mention seeing John?"_

"Oh yeah," Caleb said, twisting the phone cord around his finger. "About four days ago."

 _"That seems...recent, at least."_ In the background, Caleb could hear the boys playing. It sounded as though Dean was attempting to educate his brother in the mess of finger painting. This was good; at least they could maintain their innocence just a little bit longer.

"Jim," Caleb said, shaking his head, feeling his heart rip from his chest. "I called...I called the morgue. They told me...they told me they have someone who...who matches John's description." Those were the hardest words for him to get out, and the most important ones, too.

He could hear Jim gasp softly. _"Have you gone yet?"_ His voice was pained.

"I was just about to," Caleb replied, shrugging on his coat with one hand. "How are the boys doing? How's Dean?"

_"Oh, they're okay. I have them finger painting now. You can imagine how that's going."_

Caleb laughed, it felt unnatural. "Oh, I bet. Who's the messiest?"

_"That would be Sam. He seems to think that painting his body is the goal, and not the paper."_

"Well, tell them that I'll be seeing them soon, and that I love them, okay?"

_"I certainly will. Just be safe, Caleb, and let me know what you find there."_

"Will do."

Standing up, his legs numb, he walked out the door to drive to possibly identify his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So probably, I will be posting this every Monday and Friday. And I do believe that unless I really have a strong idea about another idea, I will be posting the ENTIRE original series. I started writing this about six years ago, and while this first story will probably be heavily edited, I do plan on publishing the rest of the stories as is, apart from some minor cosmetic work and characterization edits and such. Part of this is because I have such a love for this series that I would rather have it out there the way I fell in love with it, versus trying to do something I am not capable of right now. 
> 
> Plus, I have another story for this series I am tentatively working on that will be completed before I post it, because the last thing I want to do is leave you guys hanging. 
> 
> I'm so excited! It will take a load off me in terms of my writer's block, and such. If you are following this story on my FF account, I will probably be doing some edits to the story to better reflect this decision. In case you want it, my FF username is WildandFreed94.


	4. Chapter 4

In the years since Caleb had started hunting, he had been forced to make many different trips to the medical examiner's office to investigate cases, and ID mangled corpses that demons had torn apart.

But this was different. This was personal.

It was unlike any visit he had made before, and he knew it.

Walking into the cold and impersonal front reception area, he paced the room, waiting for the technician to come and take him back to the viewing rooms. It was an unforgivable task, and he cowardly wished that anyone could do it but him.

"Hello." A young woman in her forties had walked out of one of the back rooms, her hand outstretched. "I spoke to you on the phone?"

Caleb swallowed thickly. "Yes."

He wasn't in the mood for phony pleasantries. He wanted, as hard as it would be, to get into that room and see the body for himself and determine if it was his friend or not.

"Follow me," the woman calmly instructed, no doubt used to escorting grieving family members back to those cold rooms. "I have to warn you," she added, as they stopped outside the door marked "private." "The body was found in an extremely traumatic state."

Caleb swallowed back the tennis-ball sized lump in his throat and nodded. "Okay." It wouldn't make a difference to him-he had to know for sure, before he went back to Blue Earth and shattered what remained of the boys' world.

The frigid cold temperature that assaulted his senses when he walked into the room, was like being doused in a bucket of ice, but he ignored it as he watched the woman pull out the tray holding the body.

For a split second, he hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what was on there, he wasn't sure if he wanted to face what it would mean if his worst fears were realized.

Sucking in a breath, he squared his shoulders and walked foreword. The sight that met his eyes, wasn't completely unexpected, but it still momentarily stole his breath, as he stared down at John's wide, unseeing eyes, the light gone from them.

"Sir?"

Caleb nodded by some superhuman effort, even though most of his body had been thrown into a complete state of shock. "Yes. It's him."

* * *

As part of his training as a pastor, Jim had been trained that emotions, even negative ones like hatred and frustration, were all natural, as long as he handled them appropriately. Right then, glancing at the farm-shaped clock in his kitchen, he was getting frustrated.

It had been almost a day since he had last heard from Caleb. The last he knew, he was going to the morgue to check out a potential victim that matched John's description, but that was the last he knew.

Not that he had any serious time to mull over these concerns. The boys demanded almost all of his time, especially Sam. Dean, for the most part, could feed himself with Jim's careful supervision, of course, and even helped with Sammy.

But Sam was another matter. At barely a year old, he still couldn't walk quite yet, and had to be changed and fed constantly. Thankfully, he was a quiet baby, never really making a fuss unless he felt alone, or was hungry or needed a change.

"That's his wet cry," Dean stated simply, listening to the mew-like cries that were coming from his baby brother.

Jim turned and smiled at him. Even though every nerve he had was on edge, there was no way he would let Dean in on that, no way he would let the child know that something might be wrong with his daddy. "Is that so?"

"Mommy taught me," he said, his sweet hazel eyes downcast at the thought of his mother, a person that was there one night, and gone only a few hours later. It had to be so confusing to the five-year-old.

"She taught you well."

Dean hardly ever smiled-he reserved that megawatt smile for when his father or brother were in his immediate company. "Mommy teached me a lot," he said, using typical five-year-old grammar. It was cute, and also touching to see how proud he was of being his Mommy's helper, and now Jim's.

"Well, do you want to be my assistant?"

"Okay. I know Sammy better than you do, anyway."

The comment wasn't meant to be hurtful or judgmental, and Jim knew it. He also knew how protective Dean was of Sam, and how much pride he took in caring for him.

"You'll have to teach me."

"Okay," Dean shrugged. "It's not that hard."

Jim was anxious to get the boys to bed and finish their nightly routines. Dean had been asking at intervals where his Dad was and when he would be back. It had been hard not being able to provide a definitive answer.

"Come on, Caleb," he muttered to himself in annoyance.

The fact he hadn't heard from him, didn't worry him as much as it irritated him. He knew that Caleb was perfectly fine, but it irked him that he wasn't getting any feedback.

Going back downstairs after making sure both boys were fast asleep, he settled himself on the sofa. When the distant sounds of a rumbling car or truck engine caught his attention, he strained his eyes to see if the sound was approaching _his _driveway.

It was.

Sighing in relief, he wrenched himself up from the sofa, and went to the front door to meet whoever had decided to drop in on him on such short notice.

"Caleb?" He started in surprise, when he saw the younger hunter walking up the path to his house. "I didn't-"

"I didn't think we should talk about this over the phone," Caleb explained, brushing past Jim as he walked into the house.

"Talk about what? _John_?"

Caleb nodded, his normally bright brown eyes, unusually red and misty as he turned to face his friend.

"John is dead."


	5. Chapter 5

Caleb tried not to let his feelings of guilt control him as he effortlessly finished packing the last of his things, and put them in his truck for the long ride back to Dallas. He had things he needed to take care of there, and he also wanted to finish the spirit hunt that John started. The candy lady killer was still at large, and she could strike again at any moment. It was those thoughts that controlled him as he double-checked the things he had, and loaded them up. He had done this for many trips, but this one would be different. For one, this trip would be closure of many things, and that included his life there. One he was sure John was dead, the decision was made in his mind to help Jim raise the boys. There could be no other way. Dean and Sam needed stability.

Still, this trip promised to bring on many feelings that he was having trouble reconciling in his mind. He was looking toward the feeling of finishing the job John started, and closing his shop down. Not to mention, the next few victims he had not had the chance to talk with. They were all children, and that increased the sense of urgency in his mind. For all he knew, a few of them died already, and he would be talking to a family who had lost their children. It was these cases that always gave him a surge of rage, and made him glad he was in the work he was.

Going back into the house to grab the last few things he needed, he could not help but notice the toys lying on the ground. They belonged to both Sam and Dean, with the army men belonging to the five-year-old that was eating a sandwich in the kitchen. Sam was situated next to him in his high-chair, and giggled excitedly when Dean made a series of fake explosion sounds with the army men. This was why he was doing this. Not just for Sam and Dean, but for any other children that might lose their parents to this evil. Grabbing the rock/salt gun that was lying on the armchair, he tucked a handgun into his waistband. Better safe than sorry.

Taking a deep breath, he strode into the kitchen, and took a seat next to Dean. The five-year-old had mostly remained in a walled-off state since hearing about his father's death. He usually only interacted with Sam, and even then, Caleb could see that his heart was not in it like it used to be. Sam, for his part, was oblivious to the pain his family was going through. That made him lucky for now, but Caleb knew he would have questions the older he got. He was lucky to have a big brother that was completely selfless, and tuned in to him.

"Hey, bud," Caleb said, deciding his next course of action, before reaching out and rubbing Dean's shoulder.

The kid froze, before he slowly relaxed into the touch. It was as though he was craving the kind of physical touch that only Caleb could provide to him. From the start, they always shared a special bond, and Caleb knew that Dean needed that more than anything in that moment. Looking at Jim, who was studying a potential case on the counter, he knew that the pastor was preparing for when the younger hunter would have to leave.

"Hi," Dean said, looking at Caleb with his green eyes, before shifting them to Sam. "Sam likes 'pwaying with these." He looked at the army men, and carefully chose one before handing it to Sam. The one-year-old was delighted, and eagerly banged the army man on the table, before deciding it needed a bath in the gooey cheese sandwich.

"I can see that. I can also see he likes to dip 'em in cheese."

Dean shrugged, before taking the army man. He wiped it on his shirt, before handing it back to Sam. "That's okay. He can have it. I didn't 'wike him that much, anyway." The child took a big bite of his sandwich, before putting it down, and going for his juice.

"You're a good big brother," Caleb noted, marveling at how true that statement was. Dean was always looking out for Sam, and seemed intent on making sure that he was okay. It was the kind of thing he knew would carry them foreword in the years to come.

"I just know what he likes," Dean said, before noticing that Sam was starting to get fussy. "That means he wants down." He looked at Caleb, and then at Jim, as though expecting them to take care of this particular need.

"That's very helpful," Jim said, closing his case file, then, and moving over to help Sam. "You're like a Sam whisperer." That statement seemed to confuse Dean for a second, before his face lit up in understanding.

"I _am_?"

"You bet."

Jim set Sam down on the floor, who instantly wobbled to his feet, and came over to Dean. Looking at Dean from his place on the ground, there was nothing but awe on Sam's face. It made Caleb think back to when he first met them. Sam had just started learning to walk, and he had obsessively followed Dean around Caleb's shop. It seemed like an eternity ago that it was happening. So much had changed in the several months he had known them.

"Uh, listen," Caleb said, lifting his head to meet Jim's gaze, before directing it back to Dean. "I have to...I have to take off, bud."He was mentally preparing himself for Dean's reaction to this news. In the few days since John died, he had remained close to his brother, but had shut himself off from his father's friends. He only spoke when spoken to, and seemed scared of forming any close attachments to them.

To Caleb's complete surprise, therefore, Dean shook his head in denial of Caleb's words. It was as though he could not fathom the thought of him leaving, and possibly never coming back. It made Caleb's heart break for the child in front of him, but he knew there was no other way around it. He had things to do in Dallas, and he needed to solve the case John was on. And he knew that Dean would have plenty of support with not only Jim, but also Bobby. The older hunter was sleeping upstairs.

"You can't go!" Dean protested, getting down from his booster seat, and going over to stand in front of Caleb.

"Why not?" Caleb asked, playing along. He didn't want to put any thoughts into Dean's head that he wasn't sure were there.

"Because-" Dean's lip trembled, and he furiously wiped away the few tears Caleb could see. "What if...what if you _die_? Like daddy did." Caleb's heart shattered in his chest. The last time Dean saw John, John was preparing to leave for a job just like this one, and was probably standing in the kitchen talking to him, just like Caleb was.

"Dean, that's _not_ going to happen. I'm coming back."

Words were cheap, and he knew it. He would need to back up his statement, with the action to prove it. In that moment, all Dean knew was that yet another person was leaving him, and he wasn't sure they were going to come back. It made him realize just how much the last week or so had impacted Dean, and how it would going onward. There was nothing in life that could prepare a person for losing their parents. Especially in such a short amount of time, and the circumstances in which they both perished.

"Daddy said the same thing, and he didn't."

"Yeah, I know, but that's not going to happen to me. You know why?"

" _Why_?" Dean challenged, his green eyes begging for some understanding.

"Because I have the superhero you gave me. Remember?" Caleb reached into his pocket, and produced the tiny Batman Dean had given him when they first met.

Dean nodded. "I remember."

Reaching foreword to hug him, Caleb was stunned when Dean refused to let go. He clung to him as though holding on for dear life. The young hunter returned the hug, and looked over Dean's shoulder when Bobby came down the stairs. His hair was frizzy from sleep, and he looked like he had seen better days. Still, his eyes lit up for Sam when the baby showed him the army man his big brother gave him. Breaking away from Dean, Caleb stood up, then, knowing he had to make a clean break before he put it off for too long.

Dean was staring at him as though he could not believe Caleb was doing this, and it broke his heart. In a perfect world, he would be able to hand the case off to someone he trusted, but this one had to be finished by him. It became personal the moment John's body was found, and he was determined to get justice for John, and for the other victims. He just wished that it wasn't so hard on the five-year-old in front of him.

"Hey," Bobby said, nodding at Caleb. "You headed back?"

"Just to pack my place up, and figure out what the hell John was dealing with."

"The candy lady killer?" Bobby remarked, shaking his head.

"That would be the one," Caleb confirmed, before reaching down and kissing the top of Sam's head. "I kinda left it in a rush when I found John at the morgue." It never sat well with him to leave a case wide open, and he was determined to remedy that situation.

"Well, couldn't blame you."

"Yeah, even still, it needs to be solved."

"Got any fresh intel?" Bobby wondered, following Caleb out to the front door, where the last of his things were waiting.

Caleb nodded, hitching one bag over his shoulder. "I, uh, talked to the children's hospital director last night. Apparently, there were some new cases that rolled through."

"Same M.O?"

Caleb nodded. "Missing teeth, and poison in their system."

It always bothered him when a case involved children, or teenagers. It wasn't bad enough the supernatural had to target adults, but it had to also inflict misery on the most vulnerable in the world. It was those cases Caleb often found himself most determined to solve, and help the family of those suffering. It made his guilt over leaving Sam and Dean, just a little bit better to bear.

"Any idea what the poison is?"

Caleb nodded, before opening the front door. A cool gust of wind blew through the open door, and into the wide space the house opened it up to. "Preliminary test results show that it was probably antifreeze."

"Balls!"

"Yeah, so, I need to check out these new cases, and salt and burn that chick before she does anything else."

This case had changed all of their lives in so many ways that it was impossible to calculate everything it had served to do. It had taken a man away from his children, and his children had lost their father. This spirit had also succeeded in poisoning as many children as she could, and caused immeasurable grief for countless families. It was the thought of finally putting an end to the pain that made Caleb cross over to his truck, and climb in. The house was before him, and he could see the boys from his driver's seat. They were looking out at him, and in Sam's case, waving. Dean had a torn look on his face, as though he did not know how to respond.

He hated to leave them, but he had no other choice. Many other lives would be lost if he did not do something to stop it. Giving Bobby a small wave, he took a deep breath, and started his truck. It rumbled to life, and gave him the power he needed to pull out of the driveway, and onto the quiet street. All around him, he could see houses with families inside of them. They were the lucky ones; they did not know the evil that lurked in their world, or the people tasked with getting it taken care of. He was like that once; young and naive, and full of hope for a world that did not exist.

Taking the highway, he hoped that this trip would be the last he would have to take to Dallas. The boys needed stability, and him leaving on such short notice, did nothing to help with that. The sun was bright, and the weather was warm. It gave him the jolt he needed to stay awake, as well as the coffee that was sitting in the cup holder. As he drove one-handed down the highway, his thoughts trekked back to the boys. He wondered what they were doing. He knew that Jim and Bobby would be doing all they could to distract them. Maybe even take them to the pool that was in Jim's neighborhood.

Normalcy; the chance at a peaceful life. That was the goal, and they were sticking to it. It would not be easy, but others had done it before them. As he pondered the enormity of the task ahead of them, he thought about his friends, Bill and Ellen. They had a young daughter, and they were raising her normal, for the most part. Ellen took the occasional job, but it was Bill that was the hunter in their family, and they made it work. Why couldn't the same be true for Sam and Dean?

Taking a sip of coffee, he hoped he wasn't too late to save the most recent victims from the candy lady killer.

The file he (and John) put together, was riding alongside him in the front seat. He had gathered what he could of John's research, and combined it with his own. There was no doubt in his mind they were chasing the same thing, and now the only thing to do was solve it. Tightening his grip on the wheel, he made a mental checklist of all he had to do once he got there. He needed to go to the morgue and examine the bodies, and then he had to run by the hospital to talk with the alive victims.

And then (hopefully) find the cemetery the woman was buried at, and salt and burn her bones. Then, he would return to Minnesota, and somehow return the boys to a normal state of mind. The dramatic shift in routine, had rocked their world. Dean was devastated, even though he refused to show it, and Sam was confused. It would take awhile for them to find a new sense of family, but he hoped they could provide that for them. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he settled in for the long drive ahead of him. Nearly sixteen hours, hopefully faster if he made it a point to get there.

His apartment was near his shop, and was mostly sparse, except for the bare essentials. It would be easy to pack up. The only points of interest in the shop of his, were the weapons. Normally, he liked to keep some on hand for people that had need for them, but he could not afford to be reckless in the name of generosity. There was much that did not make sense to him, and he knew he would need to be careful going foreword.

Pulling off the highway once the sun started to dip below the clouds, he was glad for the brief reprieve. It had been tiring, but he managed to make it at least most of the distance in about twelve hours. Scanning the condensed street for a motel, he was in luck when he noticed a small establishment with a green neon-blinking sign that said, 'vacancy.' It was good enough, and he pulled his truck in. His eyes were exhausted, and felt like bricks were pushing on them, but he made it. After getting a room, he went through a ritual that was very familiar to him. He salted the doors and windows, and made sure his guns were within easy reach.

Sitting on the creaky bed, he paused in his frenetic movements, and grabbed the motel phone. He needed to check in with Jim and Bobby, and maybe talk to the boys. They would need to know that he was safe and well. Leaning back against the unstable headboard, he balanced the pillows behind him, and waited for someone to pick up. If it was night, he knew the boys would be in the thick of a well-rehearsed bedtime routine.

" _Hello?"_ It was Bobby, and he sounded strained.

"Hey, it's me." Caleb paused, listening to the muffled sounds of commotion. "What's going on there? A bomb go off?"

" _Just about,"_ Bobby grumbled, before trailing off when something crashed in the background. _"Sam just decided it would be nice to break some dishes, and Dean slipped on some water Sam spilled, and got himself all wet."_

Caleb chuckled; in a way, he supposed he was glad he wasn't there. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm not there."

" _Don't be so sure about that. Dean, um, he's nervous about goin' to bed without you being there. He's fine with Jim, but he's scared you're not coming back still."_

Caleb nodded, he had suspected as much. "I'll talk to him before we hang up. What about Sammy? Apart from his antics tonight."

" _He's fine. He just wants to be wherever Dean is. Usual drill."_

He missed the boys so much it hurt. He couldn't believe he could only spend about a night with them before he had to get going again. However, he was glad he was able to be there when they told Dean about John. The kid needed all the support he could get. He wasn't too familiar with the bedtime routine Jim always did with them, but he assumed it was effective. They were always sleeping soundly whenever he called.

"I just drove about twelve hours. I got another four or five tomorrow, so I'll start early."

" _Where's the first stop?"_

"Probably the hospital."

He was eager to talk with the family, and also with the victims. It would be much more interesting to get information from a child than an adult. A child was not trained to lie, but an adult could with ease.

" _Sounds good. The morgue after?"_

Caleb nodded, though Bobby had no way of knowing this. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. I already know the M.O of this thing, so I don't need to examine the body as much as I need to get some firsthand details from these kids."

" _Probably what I'd do."_

That was a compliment in Bobby Singer speak, and Caleb decided to take it as such. Listening in the brief silence that came over them, he could tell things had settled down on their end. Jim had probably wrestled Sam into a crib, and Dean was likely waiting for him to fall asleep before he got into his own bed. The guys didn't know if that habit was born out of him having to watch Sam in dingy motels, or if he just preferred to know Sam was fine. Either way, it was heartwarming.

After he said a brief goodnight to Dean, who sounded very happy to hear from him, Caleb called it good, and hung up the phone. He had a lot to get done that night, and in the morning. As charming as the motel he was in was, he had no intention of staying there any longer than he had to. It was just a place to catch some sleep, and move on. Opening the file, his eyes scanned details he was already well acquainted with. Listing every detail of the case in his mind, he wondered if there was something he was missing, something that was right in front of him. She killed her husband who killed their child, but what else could it be?

His mind was too exhausted to think it through to its logical conclusion, so he decided to go to sleep. Sleep, much to Caleb's surprise, came easily and ended way too early for his liking. Struggling up, he attempted to find enough energy to start his day. That energy came with a generous amount of caffeine, and a cold shower. His mind was singularly focused on getting to Dallas, and finishing up a painful chapter in his life, and in the boy's lives. His thoughts were never far from them, and he wondered what they were doing right then.

Stepping out of the motel space after he checked out, he got in his truck, and resumed his repetitive trek down the freeway. If he was correct in his thinking, Jim and Bobby were probably getting the boys up and ready for the day, and that usually started with breakfast, and then some playtime outside. If they were lucky, they also got to go to the pool to burn off energy. He wished he could soak up the sun, and relax, too. After the pool, the boys could be counted on to play quietly, or in Sam's case, take a little nap.

It did not surprise him that he knew so much about their routine. It was the little things that mattered to Caleb, and it was what he was focused on as he quickly completed the last leg of the journey. It only took him three and a half hours to make the four to five hour timeline he put on himself, and he was relieved. The faces of the boys shone through to his mind as he drove through the town of Dallas, until he reached the historic town of Terrell. It seemed he had just been there to talk to the people John had last spoken with, and in a way, he supposed it was true.

The hospital was small, local, and inundated with local children who were bearing the brunt of the cruelty of this one lady. Reaching into his glove box, he pulled out a series of fake ID cards, before selecting the one he knew would gain him easy access to the victims. The air was warm, but his blood was running as cold as a river in winter months. Walking through the sliding glass doors, Caleb quickly offered the friendly man at the front desk, his fake alias, and ID to match it. Not to his surprise, he was directed to the pediatric ward. Yet another friendly face was waiting to meet him, this time dressed in cartoon scrubs, and wearing a Mickey Mouse clip around her stethoscope.

"How can I help you?" Her name tag said she was a nurse, by the name of Amanda.

"Yes," Caleb said, falling into a role that came easily to him. "I'm with the CDC, and I just came here to hopefully speak with some of the children who were brought here? And maybe their family."

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Why does the CDC have interest in this case?"

"We're just covering all our bases, you understand. It's not common there are so many cases of poisoning, and all coming from the same source."

"No, that is for sure."

"How many do you have?" Caleb already knew, but he wanted to make sure.

"Fifteen," Amanda recited, turning and gesturing for him to follow her. He was led down a hallway that he knew marked the start of the critical care unit. "All of them are still admitted...or they've...not made it."

Caleb nodded, swallowing thickly. In that instant, he cursed his soft side. "Are there any theories?"

"Honestly? No, not really. We've had CPS come, of course, but there isn't a set pattern of abuse that fits the description."

"So, what are they saying, then?"

"They're keeping the cases open, but they're trying to look at it as a whole, instead of at each individual family."

Caleb nodded. "Maybe makes sense."

Stopping outside the door that was marked with the room number, Caleb paused, before opening it. A young mother was sitting by her child's hospital bed. Her child, a young boy, was hooked up to every tube imaginable, and yet was still able to somehow read a book. His body was weak, though, and Caleb could tell it. His hands could barely hold his book up, and his cough was raspy.

The boy's mother looked up when he walked in. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Caleb said, holding out his hand. "I'm from the CDC. I'm Mark Carter." He produced a name ID tag. The woman studied it, before nodding her head for him to continue. "Our department heard about these cases, and they sent me out to investigate."

"Oh...okay, then." She sat back down, clearly coming to the conclusion that he was no threat.

"When did he get sick?" Caleb asked, smiling gently at the boy, who was studying him curiously.

"About a week ago. It was just normal flu symptoms. Until, it wasn't."

Caleb nodded absently, writing all the information down she was providing to him. "And...when did you bring him in?"

"Just last night. He got...progressively worse."

"Okay." Here came the hard part that Caleb was in no hurry to do, but knew had to get done. "And is it okay if I do a quick exam of your son? It won't be anything invasive, and I just need to ask him a question or two."

The woman nodded, before standing up and going to stand over her son. "His name is Cash." She turned her attention to her little boy, who looked at her as though he had no idea what was going on. "This nice man is trying to help you, okay? He wants to look at you really fast, and ask you some questions."

Cash nodded, curling his hand around his dinosaur-blanket. He suppressed a large yawn, before focusing his watery gaze on the man in front of him. Caleb sat down next to him, and tried to think of some way to make him feel comfortable enough to speak with him. With children, he knew hunters had to always tread lightly, so they wouldn't get uncomfortable.

"Hey, bud."

"Hi," Cash whispered, looking at his Mom, and then back at Caleb.

"My name is Mark." He smiled. "I heard from a reliable source that _your_ name is Cash?"

Cash nodded. "Yeah."

"That's a good name, you know that? I just wanted to talk to you, okay? But first, I need to know something very important, okay?"

Cash nodded, reaching under his blanket to produce a Star Wars figure. "Okay."

"I need to know," Caleb said, knowing he was diving into murky water. "Whether you know the difference between the truth, and a lie. Do you know what those two things mean?"

It was Caleb's experience that some adults didn't even know that difference. Much less a small child. When he focused his gaze on the child before him, he knew that Cash was trying to formulate his thoughts so he could explain himself. It was not an easy question for a boy to answer, so he was trying to be patient with him.

"A truth...is when you tell something that really happened."

Caleb smiled. "That's exactly right."

"And a lie...is when you say something happened, but it didn't really happen."

That was good enough for Caleb. He hoped beyond hope that Cash would be able to shed some light on what he was investigating. He was one of the only few people who had survived long enough to speak with him, and he was thankful for that. It would make his job of finding the spirit that much easier.

"Okay, so...I need to know what happened, and why you're here."

Cash coughed violently, and for a second, Caleb wondered if the doctors would need to come in. Finally, though, he seemed to get it under his own control. It broke his heart for the mother, because he could not imagine having to be in her shoes. When he listened beyond the room, he could hear the PA system announcing a code blue. It did not take a genius to figure out one of the other children had just stopped breathing.

"I...I found some candy...and I ate it."

"Where did you find this candy, bud?"

Cash contemplated this for a moment. "On my windowsill."

"When was this?" Caleb asked, accepting the Star Wars figure Cash offered him.

"A long time ago. Like, last week."

"What did...what did the candy taste like?"

He had no clue what the candy tasted like, but he figured it had to have some sort of sweet taste to attract so many kids. The spirits were not stupid, and would know how to exact their twisted sense of justice.

"It...tasted...sorta...like...sweet."

" _Really_ sweet?" Caleb pressed, trying to adopt a teasing tone. "I know _I_ like sweet candy."

Cash nodded. "Yeah."

It was the taste of antifreeze.

"What did you feel like after? Really good? Or kinda sick?"

"Kinda sick...and kinda like I wanted to sleep."

Caleb knew some of the other children experienced the same kind of symptoms. It made his blood boil just thinking about the other kids that were going through the same thing. It made his resolve to solve the case, that much stronger. Now was the part he would be most interested to get to. Reaching for some latex gloves, he fit them over his hands, and prepared for the next part of his investigation.

"So, bud, I heard that you sorta lost some teeth?"

Cash nodded. "I woke up, and I found them on my shirt." He motioned at the spot on his chest where he found them. "I was choking on something..."

"His blood," his mother interjected, her face pale white. "He almost choke to death."

Caleb nodded, assuming the most sympathetic expression that he could think to put on. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could not wait to figure out his next steps. He hoped if he was able to get to the spirit in time, he would be able to prevent any other children from getting sick. He knew Jim and Bobby were waiting for him to report back, and he hoped his check-in would provide good news.

"So, bud, I need to check your mouth, okay?"

Cash nodded. "What do you have to do?"

"I just need to check your gums, that's all."

Cash hesitated, before he nodded. "Okay."

With his permission, Caleb gently pulled his lip down, and inspected the damage done. His mouth still bore the evidence of the trauma he endured. When the hunter looked closely enough, he could see a jagged edge of the tooth that had not been ripped out completely. Shaking his head in disgust at the spirit, he reached inside the mouth, and carefully dislodged the remaining piece of tooth. Moving to the top of his mouth, he saw less signs of trauma, which he was thankful for.

His next objective was to go to the morgue and look for anything on the body that might indicate where the spirit was. If there was nothing, he knew he would need to go find something out at the town library. At the very least, he was making some amount of headway. Getting up to leave the room, he hoped he would be able to save this boy from a needless death.

"I saw something," Cash said, turning his head to look at Caleb.

"What...what did you see?"

"I saw...a _man_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the case continues...another update on Monday!


	6. Chapter 6

The humidity of the sun beat down on the exposed necks of the people walking through the wooded outdoors. For a split second, the man walking ahead of the others, wondered if it had been the best plan to divert from their normal routine, and do something new without knowing the status of the hunt. Still, as Jim looked back and saw the look on Dean's face, and the excited giggle of his little brother, he knew he made the right choice. The boys had been cooped up in the house for way too long, and they needed a change of scenery. The neighborhood pool had only gone so far in providing entertainment, and playing outside the house had long lost its appeal.

There was a creek that segued into a meadow where wildlife routinely gathered, and Jim wondered if he would be able to find it after all those years. It had been his favorite place to come and study when he was in school, and after his family had been murdered, it was there he sought peace away from the investigation, and the funerals he had to attend. The woods had been a place of quiet rest, and he was hoping Sam and Dean might find something to do there, and maybe make some of the same memories he himself had made.

The wooded area was not far from their house; it was close enough so they could return at a moments notice, but Jim tried hard not to worry about that. He knew Caleb was busy talking to people at the Children's Hospital, and then he was going to swing by the morgue to interview the medical examiner. Those were typical moves of a hunter, and it sometimes took awhile depending on the answers received at one of those places. The sun hit the trees, and spread like a fan over the rest of the woods, breaking through the canopy of trees to illuminate the individuals walking in its path. It was a hot day, but it was also cool enough for a hike.

Looking back over his shoulder, he could not help the small smile that came across his face when he noticed the two boys. They were doing their best to navigate the rough terrain, and were mostly succeeding. Dean, at five, was doing a lot better than his baby brother, who seemed to trip and fall over every other tree branch he came in touch with. Sam, though, seemed to not care about the bumps and bruises. His main concern was making sure he kept up with his big brother, and Dean, for his part, seemed to want the same thing. Whenever they were in a new place, Dean always made sure Sam stayed close to him, and was always within his eyesight.

Bobby was walking behind the boys, making sure they did not decide to veer off the trail, and get lost in the dense bush. That would be a disaster _waiting_ to happen, and Jim was glad he had an extra pair of eyes to assist him. Walking over a low-hanging branch, he motioned for Bobby to make sure the boys stayed clear of the same thing. Dean was looking down at his feet, making sure he caught anything his brother might step into. Sam, clearly confused about what they were doing, looked to Dean for direction, and studied the ground just like he was. It was adorable to see how in-sync they were, and how Sam absolutely looked up to Dean.

Stopping when he heard a distant _crack_ , he gestured for Bobby to slow the progress of the boys. Sam had been struggling to overcome a little incline in the path, and Dean had taken his hand to help him over it. Studying what was ahead of them, Jim's mouth dropped open in astonishment, when he noticed a tiny animal who was partially concealed by the bushes. Taking a cautious step foreword, he noticed immediately that it was a baby deer. Its size and appearance, made it clear to Jim that it must have a mother nearby. Stopping once he was close enough, he put a finger to his lips, and waved Sam and Dean onward.

It was a priceless sight, and he knew if he never found the creek and meadow, this sight alone would be worth the entire trip. Looking down when Dean came to his side, he leaned down and picked his toddler brother up. Sam, to his surprise, was just as quiet as he was. Clearly, the small child knew the significance of the moment they were witnessing, or perhaps just sensed that it was important he stay calm. For whatever reason, Jim marveled at the silence, and even more so, at the baby. The small deer poked around, looking for food, but Jim saw that it was on alert for anything out there. Shaking his head, he looked back at Bobby, who was investigating the area.

Bobby was an expert tracker in the supernatural, and he knew he was looking for anything that might spell danger for them. Waiting for him to communicate anything unsafe to them, Jim continued to study the deer, and also to listen for its mother. If the mother was nearby, it should have come out to be with her young. Jim hoped the mother was alive, and some reckless hunter hadn't killed her. The baby was too young to survive on its own. Almost as though someone read his thoughts, he heard another, louder _crack_ , and watched breathlessly as the mother methodically, slowly, came out.

She knew they were there. Her head turned slowly in all directions, before stepping over to her baby. It seemed as though she realized there was no danger, because eventually, she lowered her head, and started to graze on the food in front of them. No one wanted to move a muscle, and it was one of those things he knew the boys would probably remember for as long as they lived.

"Mama," Sam babbled, pointing at the deer with one finger, his other hand curled around Jim's neck. "Mama." He spoke in a hushed voice, wanting to voice his observation of the scene, but also not wanting to be _too_ loud.

Jim smiled at the toddler. "That's right, Sammy." Sam did not talk that much, but when he did, it was almost always to point something out that Dean was doing, or something particularly interesting.

Jim continued to study the baby deer and the mother, and marveled at the miracle of creation. Once the mother seemed to determine there was no real danger, she allowed her baby to feed from her. The baby immediately did what was natural, and even that was fascinating to the boys. Dean, especially, studied the mother and baby, and seemed to be drinking in what he was seeing. It was nice to see him interested in something after going through what he had in recent days. Jim reached a free hand down, and rubbed Dean's head.

"What's the baby doing?" Dean wondered, crossing his arms, swaying from one foot to the other.

"She's getting food from her mom," Bobby explained, slowly walking up to stand beside them.

The hunter had finished surveying the scene around them, and judging from his relaxed posture, there was nothing for them to be concerned with. Jim was glad about that: It was not often either he _or_ Bobby could spend an uninterrupted day with Sam and Dean, and not feel the pressure of the supernatural. Ever since John died, Jim's anxiety about leaving the boys for any length of time, had only gone up. Even though Bobby did not live with them, he also could tell Bobby was feeling the same pressure.

Bobby's answer seemed to satisfy Dean, and he fell into silence, absently stroking Sam's hand when the toddler reached for him. Eventually, the mother abruptly lifted her head, and began ushering her baby back into the thick cover of the woods. It took a minute for Jim to shake himself free from the myriad of thoughts that entered his mind upon seeing that sight, but once he did, he looked down at Dean, and then over at Sam, and began to move on. The woods was easy to get lost in, but he knew where he was going, and so did Bobby.

"Can Sammy run when we get there?" Dean asked, looking back at Bobby, and then at Jim.

"Maybe," Bobby said. "It just depends on what the deal is."

Jim nodded slowly, before letting Sam down. "He might still be a little _too_ little, but _you_ can if you want." Jim watched Sam try to navigate the uneven ground, before doing a tumble to the ground. The fall seemed to shake Sam, but he quickly shook it off, and struggled back to his feet.

Stopping just before they reached a creek that zig-zagged down the length of the immediate area, he looked down and saw the water wasn't terribly high. A recent rainfall had not done much damage, and he knew they would be able to cross it and not get too wet. Still, he wasn't sure he wanted Dean to get wet when they still had more ground to cover. Taking the child in his arms, he took a careful step foreword. The water was cold, but not so cold that it was freezing. Stepping over rocks and pebbles, it only took him a few long strides to reach the other side.

Bobby had Sam in his arms, and gingerly stepped across. Sam clapped happily, having no idea what was happening. Jim noticed Dean shake his head in amusement at his little brother. The pastor wished Sam could remain that innocent and carefree, but more than likely, he would be forced to grow up beyond his years. Even at five, Dean had a maturity about him that was uncharacteristic for someone his age.

Looking down when his foot stepped into an indent in the ground, he looked over his shoulder at Bobby. It was a paw-print. Leaning down to look at it, his first guess was that it was probably a coyote. The area around them was more secluded, and that also meant having to play host to a variety of wildlife. Most of it wasn't dangerous, but there were some predators that Jim found himself anxious about because of the boys. Beckoning Dean over, the five-year-old's eyes widened as he took in the sight.

"What is it?" Dean asked, placing his palm flat in the very center of the print.

"Looks like a...coyote," Bobby observed, looking down at the size of the shape. "I saw some signs back there."

"Are they like dogs?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow, as he stood up.

"Sorta, but they have a _mean_ bite," Bobby explained, looking at the one-year-old in his arms, who seemed oblivious to the excitement of the find.

"Kinda like...like _lions_?" Dean pondered, comically placing a finger on his chin.

"Sorta, yeah," Jim confirmed, smiling.

Moving on once Sam began to get fussy in Bobby's arms, Jim found himself keeping a close eye on their surroundings. A coyote was perfectly capable of hurting (or even killing) children the size of Dean, and especially Sam. He had never seen one around his property before, but the woods was a different matter. Dean seemed to pick up the fact that Jim was being especially careful, and stuck close to his side. For all that he disapproved of the way John had raised the boys in the wake of Mary's death, he was grateful Dean had learned obedience from his brief time being on the road.

Keeping his eyes both on the ground, and around him in case something leaped out, he knew they were getting close to the meadow. The thick trees were beginning to thin out a little, and he could hear a cacophony of wildlife just up ahead. Taking it slow, he motioned for Dean to slow his pace. The child instantly obeyed, and looked back at his brother. Sam was once again walking on the unsteady ground, and Dean held out an arm to stop him. Sam looked at him curiously, but he made no move to move around him.

Stepping through the thick swarm of weeds and low-hanging branches, Jim's expertly trained eyes, scanned the silent space for anything of concern. There was nothing but open space Sam and Dean could explore. Even though he had a wide open field in the back of his home, he felt like the boys had explored just about every square inch of it since coming there. This would be unclaimed territory for them to frolic in. Nodding back at Bobby once he was confident it was safe, Sam and Dean did not need telling twice.

Finally free from the urge to make sure his brother listened to their new family, Dean took Sam's hand and bounded out of the cover of the trees. The only sound that could be heard in the entire meadow, was the sound of laughter. Jim was sure he had never heard Sam (or even Dean) laugh as hard as they were, as they ran until they couldn't anymore. Dean needed to feel that freedom, to feel like he could let loose with Sam, and not worry. In other words, he was finally getting the chance to be a _child_.

Jim walked lazily across the meadow, keeping an eye on the boys. Even though they were having fun, Dean was still aware that he needed to stay within eyesight of the two guys. He watched as Dean bent down, and showed Sam something. It was an unusually shaped rock, and Jim heard Dean try to explain to Sam what he thought it was. Sam was hanging on to Dean's every word, and seemed enthralled when he got a chance to hold the funny rock.

Stopping at a point midway across, Jim stopped, and let the flood of memories come back to him. It had been years since he had the chance to come back to the meadow, and it still felt as peaceful as it did back then. Shaking his head, he could not believe the difference two or more decades could make on a person. Back then, he had no clue about the supernatural. Only that his family was dead, murdered, and he was scared. In that meadow, he felt a calming sense of peace that seemed to be the calm before the storm.

"Good idea to bring the rugrats here," Bobby noted, watching the same scene Jim was watching.

Jim nodded. "Do you think they would ever have had the chance to do this if John were still here?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not a chance. He chewed me out for even _daring_ to do something with Dean other than getting him ready to shoot guns." It was not hard to find the disapproval in Bobby's tone, and Jim could identify with it.

"I know he did the best he could...I mean, I was a wreck when Kathy and the kids were..." Jim shook his head, not willing to let his mind bring him back to a time he would rather erase from his mind. "But you know, I just couldn't stand to see Dean being transformed into this...this-"

"Blunt instrument?" Bobby supplied, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"For lack of a better word."

"Unbelievable, huh?"

It was horrifying to even _think_ about a child being used in that way, but Jim knew that was exactly where Dean was going. John cared for his two sons, but he was also revenge-obsessed, and Jim knew from dear experience, that it could warp one's mind until there wasn't much left. He hated the thought of the boys growing up without any parents, but a small inner voice taunted him with the truth that maybe they were better off.

Glancing up at the sky, it was easy to spot the thunder clouds rolling in from the distance. He hated to cut the fun short, but they still had to walk all the way back through the woods, and then back to their home that was down the road. Looking at Bobby, the hunter seemed to read his mind, and strode over to where Sam was ripping up some wildflowers. Dean seemed to know it was time to go, and he immediately traipsed to Jim's side. Swinging an arm around his shoulders, Jim pulled the child close, wanting him to feel something other than the pain he was going through.

Sam was _not_ happy that his fun was being cut short, and decided to loudly voice his disappointment over this issue. Dean seemed torn between how to soothe his brother as the small group walked back the way they had come. The woods, once hot and full of barely concealed light, had started to transform into a new creation. A shadow had fallen over the area, and with that, came creatures that had once been hidden. As they slowly picked their way across the ground, Jim noticed little chipmunks and squirrels, and even something that looked like a raccoon. All of these animals scurried out of the way, but Dean was impressed with them, and so was Sam, who stopped his bawling to get a closer look.

Coming to the same creek, Jim smiled, before launching Dean into the air, before settling him down on his shoulders. His actions actually earned him a giggle from the five-year-old, and a look of awe on his face that came from being at a much different height. Meticulously picking his way across the creek, Jim glanced up, and saw Dean taking in every single sight that once had been concealed from him. He looked downright content, and Jim would have done anything to make that so. Keeping Dean on his shoulders after they crossed the creek, Jim could see the edge of the woods, and he was glad. It had been a long afternoon, but a worthwhile one.

Glancing down when his leg brushed something, he noticed that several branches had been snapped by something. By the force of it, it looked like it had been done by a large animal. It must have been what Bobby picked up when they first got there. Hoping it wasn't indicative of something more serious, Jim kept his comments to himself, and looked back to make sure Bobby and Sam were with them. Sam had started to doze in Bobby's arms, worn out by his meltdown, and the fun he had in the meadow. It was too late to put him down for a nap, but Jim knew he could rest watching cartoons.

Stepping out of the cover of the woods, was like stepping into a brand new world. Taking a second to reorient himself, Jim easily lifted Dean down from his shoulders, and looked around. Their street wasn't far, only a few feet. Taking Dean's hand, he stepped on the sidewalk. Bobby and Sam were right behind them, and Sam had fully fallen asleep. Dean, as always, kept an eye on his brother as they walked. Rows of houses passed by them, and when Jim glanced at them, he saw every sort of walk of life imaginable. In that instant, he hoped none of them would ever have to know about the supernatural.

Finally stepping up on his porch, Jim could feel the effects of the walk on his body. It was not as young as it used to be, that was for sure, and years of hunting had not done him any favors. Stepping inside the house, he made a straight shot for the kitchen, where he knew the boys would be hungry. He could practically hear Dean's stomach _begging_ for food, though the child had surprisingly not said anything. Giving Dean some animal crackers to hold him over while he thought about dinner, he watched Bobby place a groggy Sam in his high-chair.

"What should we do for dinner, Dean?" Jim asked, glancing at the child, who was trying to make sure Sam was okay.

"Pizza!" Dean supplied excitedly.

"You want _pizza_?" Jim pretended to be surprised.

Dean nodded. "Uh-huh, and Sam wants it, too."

Sam had evidently decided he did not like the animal crackers, and had thrown them on the floor. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes at his brother, before ducking under the table to clean them up. Sam stopped what he was doing, and studied what Dean was doing. From the look on his face, Jim figured Sam felt bad for making Dean clean up after him.

"D?" Sam whispered, holding his hand out for the crackers.

"Sam, you can't have these. They're dirty now." Dean marched over to the trash can, and dumped the crackers.

That answer did not seem to suit Sam, who started fussing his disappointment. Striding over to the phone book, Jim kept a careful eye on the boys while he searched out the number for a pizza delivery place. It was the best option for a tired night, and Dean deserved to have a little treat. Bobby was busy searching the house for any danger, a habit he had picked up after what happened with John, and also years of hunting.

Leaning against the counter, he waited for someone to pick up the phone of the pizza place. Dean was sitting next to Sam, and was quietly munching on his crackers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw him slide a giraffe over to Sam, who seemed to have lost interest in the snack, and was busy digging through his pockets for something. He didn't have long to wonder what the toddler was interested in, though, because finally someone picked up the phone, and he placed their order. In the background, Jim could hear Sam trying to rip something, and getting more frustrated by the second. Finally, Dean seemed to have taken pity on him, because he fell silent.

"What does he have, Dean?" Bobby asked, coming into the kitchen, and seeing Sam holding something small in his palm, clearly wondering how best to munch on it.

"It's...it's a piece of candy," Dean replied, leaning closer to inspect the brightly-colored wrapper.

Jim's heart lodged in his throat, and he hung up the phone at the same time Bobby immediately took the candy from a very bewildered Sam. Taking a close look at Sam's mouth, the hunter sighed in relief when he noticed that Sam had not digested any of the candy, and had simply held it. Looking at Bobby, he saw the hunter hesitate, before lifting the candy up to his nose for a sniff. Judging from the look on his face, he knew they just had a _very_ close call. Taking the wrapper from Dean, Jim held it up to the light. In a messy scrawl, it read: _I PICKED THESE SPECIAL FOR YOU._

"Dean, where did Sam find this?" Jim inquired, leaning down on Dean's level.

"He...he found it in the woods...I think."

Jim nodded, feeling his heart return to normal. "It's okay, Dean, it's not your fault."

Dean nodded, but Jim knew that he was shaken by what just happened. "Was it _bad_ candy?"

Bobby nodded. "Yes, but you couldn't have known that, idjit."

Dean did not seem satisfied with Bobby's answer, and Jim hated that yet _another_ thing had stolen some of Dean's happiness from him. At the very least, Dean's favorite meal was fast on its way, but that would do little in the grand scheme of things. Once Dean got something in his mind, it was very difficult to steer his thinking back to a healthy place. Allowing Dean a moment to consider everything that just happened, he took a seat next to him, and looked at Sam. The one-year-old was busy trying to grab Dean's attention, and finally succeeded in yanking some of Dean's hair.

"Sammy...could have... _died_...like Daddy?" Dean pondered, looking at Bobby, and then at Jim.

Jim shook his head, feeling an unexpected lump in his throat. "He could have gotten _very_ sick, Dean, but he would have been okay."

"Is that why Caleb is not here?" Dean challenged, understanding lighting up his features. "Is he saving Sammy?"

"And a whole lot of other little munchkins," Bobby confirmed, ruffling Dean's hair.

In the day or so since Caleb left, it was not hard to see that Dean missed him. For some reason, Dean had taken an instant liking to the young hunter, and the two were practically inseparable when they were together. Jim was glad Dean would have someone like that in his life going foreword, because he knew the life they would lead, would often be unforgivable. It made him long for the day Caleb returned from the hunt, and the boys could finally have some iota of peace. When the food finally arrived, and the boys were busy chowing down, Jim used that as an excuse to try to get Caleb on the phone.

The spirit getting so close to them, had definitely terrified him. It made him realize just how insidious the supernatural could be, and how they had to be more careful going on. He didn't think he could handle it if something were to happen to any of the boys.

* * *

Caleb let himself into the cheap motel he was staying at, and sprawled himself on the bed. His heart was hammering in his chest, and seemed to be making a rapid ascent to his throat. The hunt had taken nearly everything out of him personally and professionally, but he knew he had to keep going. Especially after the spirit tried to take out one of the boys. Just the idea of Sam getting hold of the candy, was enough to make Caleb get over his exhaustion, and sit upright. For some reason, he had been under the belief that the boys were safe in Minnesota, that maybe evil couldn't find them there.

He had been wrong, and now he was even more determined, if that was possible, to reach a conclusion to this case. The spirit had not only poisoned several children, with more probably on the way, but she had slyly tried to do the same thing to Sam. That was simply unacceptable to Caleb, and the reason why he got his few things together, and headed back out the door. He had an appointment with the coroner, and was eager to find anything he could to help him in his search for the truth. It was this part of the investigation that usually interested him, but now it was just a means to an end.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he closed his eyes, and focused on the simple art of driving down the road. After he knew what exactly he was dealing with, he would hopefully be able to hammer the final nail in the coffin, and figure out the location of the grave. The town records were his next stop after the morgue, and he hoped to be able to finish the hunt that night. His hands shook with anticipation at the thought of that. Especially after hearing from Jim how terrible Dean felt for accidentally letting Sam have the candy.

The town was small, but it felt impossibly large, with answers to questions that seemed far out of reach. A case had never felt so impossible to him as it did with this one, and he hoped to come across the answer, and more importantly, the location of the grave. It did not matter to him the whys or the hows, or anything else, what mattered was getting enough information to make a kill, and he intended on doing that. Stopping at a red light, he impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and looked around at the old shops. It would have been a charming town had it not had the history it did.

Pulling into the medical examiner's building, he briefly collected himself, before getting his identification. This routine was so cut and dry that it was nothing for him anymore. His heart thundered in his chest, and his palms shook as he walked in the door. There was hardly anyone there, apart from the receptionist. She regarded him with suspicion, no doubt not used to seeing anyone unfamiliar in their close-knit community, but she paged the appropriate person. Waiting by the desk, Caleb imagined what it would feel like to solve the case, and go back to Minnesota.

It would feel invigorating, and it would also feel a little bittersweet. In the rush to figure out the case, and help the boys through their unexpected loss, Caleb barely had time to think, let alone mourn the loss of his friend. John Winchester had come into his life suddenly, and left it just as fast. Forming connections in the hunting world, was never a recommended habit, but he could not help it when he met the boys. They were innocent and precious, and so full of life and love. Once this hunt was finished, he knew they would take some time to grieve and figure out their new family.

Shaking off his thoughts once a woman walked out from the back, he assumed a professional appearance, complete with pleasantries he would rather get over with. As she beckoned for him to follow her down a tight hallway, he tried to steel himself for the sight of a deceased person. It would possibly be the body of a child, and that always threatened his sense of composure. Scrubbing a hand down his face at that thought, he paused, before walking into the room the lady directed him into. To no surprise, it was completely cold. Waiting near where she directed him, he watched her pull out the right body, and he stepped closer to examine it as it lay on the tray.

It was indeed, the body of a small child. A little girl. Her face, once probably so full of life and love, was devoid of any color, and was instead cold. Closing his eyes for a second, he allowed himself to feel what he needed to feel, before he opened them again. His thoughts projected an image of Sam and Dean, and that gave him the strength to finish what he started. Snapping on latex gloves, his rage was reignited for the spirit, whether it be a woman or a man, as the little boy seemed to think it was.

Lifting up the little girl's lip, he saw the telltale sign of the trauma he had experienced with the little boy, Cash. Her gums were raw and full of abuse. Taking out a flashlight, he stepped closer to her body, and looked more intently at her mouth. Yet again, the tooth had failed to break out completely, and a jagged part was sticking out of the exposed gum. It made him feel sick to look at it, so he tried not to. Looking deeper into her mouth, he caught a glimpse of something bright and purple. Unceremoniously reaching inside, he pulled out part of the candy she had not swallowed.

Shaking his head, he put the candy on the table to examine later. The medical examiner was standing back, but he had a lot of questions for her. The majority of them had to do with the state of the girl before she died, and the substances that might be in her system at the time of her death.

"Alyssa Leach," the medical examiner filled in, when Caleb stepped away from the table. "Date of birth, September 8th, 1977." She was so young, only seven-years-old.

"What-what was the cause of death?" Caleb asked, surprised at how thick his voice was.

The woman, to his surprise, seemed just as emotional as he was. "It was ethylene glycol poisoning. It's a component found in antifreeze."

Caleb nodded, not at all surprised. Antifreeze was inexplicably tied to the case, and he figured it was due to the fact that the first child, the child of the spirit, was likely poisoned with that certain chemical. "What were the levels in her bloodstream? Or is that not something you can figure out?"

"Those were inconclusive, unfortunately."

Caleb nodded. "What was the cause of death? I mean, apart from the poisoning."

The woman took a deep breath. "Multi-system organ failure. Antifreeze can attack many parts of the body at one time. The little girl went into the hospital with nausea, and very quickly, her condition worsened."

"Not surprising."

"Alyssa's mother, Renee Leach, she said that Alyssa mentioned seeing a _man_ right before she ate the candy. He appeared to appear, and then disappear. If that helps."

It was hard not to feel bitter about this newest case. It was yet another reminder of the urgency he felt every second the case was not solved. Looking back at the child, he could not help but notice a small bulge in Alyssa's hand. Narrowing his eyes, he gently extracted the object from her clenched hand. Unraveling the neon-pink wrapper, he felt his entire being go into a state of disgust. It read: _SHH, DON'T TELL ANYONE :)_

Slipping the paper into his pocket, he thanked the examiner for her time, and left. He had gotten all he could from this visit, and now knew more of what he was dealing with. The spirit was predictable in that it was targeting children, and it also commonly left evidence of it having been there, in the form of a candy wrapper. What was puzzling to Caleb, were the witness accounts of seeing a man right before the poisoning took place. First Cash mentioned it, and now Alyssa's mother had mentioned it.

Was he dealing with a woman? Or a _man_? Getting back into his truck, he searched his mind for a possible connection to this case that could be the one link he would need to finish it. An angry spirit was born out of a violent death, and he assumed it was the woman. Now, he wasn't so sure. When the case was first brought to his attention, he assumed it was the spirit of Clara Crane that was doing this because she had died a somewhat violent death, but he knew little about what happened to her ex-husband. Could it have been possible he died in a similar manner?

The town's historical records was the next logical place to try. Turning his car into the small parking lot of the local library, he prepared to dig deeper into the complicated history of the town, and its most infamous murder mystery. Walking inside the dimly lit front area, he noticed there was almost no one there. It was no surprise that he didn't see any children: he could imagine parents would be extra cautious at a time like that. Walking to the back of the library, he diligently searched for the intel he needed.

Pulling out a box that contained information from the year he was looking for, he prepared himself to sit tight until he found something. Pulling out the first set of papers, he flipped through the town records that dealt with the creation of the town, and its earliest residents. Most of this was information that was unnecessary for the investigation. Slowing down when he came to the year, 1900, he tried to block everything else from his mind until he found a lead. This was the part of the investigation that would either make or _break_ it. All he needed was to know for sure if it was a man, or a woman, and where they were buried. That was it, as far as he was concerned.

Coming to the horrific story of Clara Crane, he leaned in closer to the table, and read. The information was not new to him, but he still read. The details were thorough, and highlighted the death of her child, and the ensuing trial that followed. It also spoke about her conviction, and her sentence to the asylum. Caleb knew she died there, but he didn't know what of. If it was natural causes, the theory of her being the spirit, was slim.

For the first time, he seriously considered the possibility of it being someone _other_ than Clara Crane. It was not often he found a legend, and it proved to be false, but he was willing to be lenient in the name of solving this horrible thing. Turning his brain in another direction, was anything but easy when his noggin had been trained to think of one solid direction, but it was what he had to do.

"Are you looking at the Crane case?" A young man, probably college-aged, had come up to his table.

"Just doing some research," Caleb answered nonchalantly. "I'm a reporter for the tribune."

The young man nodded, and a deep sense of respect seemed to cross over him. "That's awesome, man. I'm just finishing up my last year for the same thing."

Caleb nodded slowly, trying to ascertain what he wanted exactly. "That's real good, dude."

"Anyway," the kid said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "You know the legend is false, right?"

"Is that a fact?" Caleb's mind was spinning. "How do you know?"

"Well, no offense, but it's kinda been an obvious thing for decades now."

Caleb did his best to fix a surprised look on his face. "So, what's the _real_ story?"

The man only seemed to become more excited, and Caleb was willing to feed into it in order to finally put an end to the pain this spirit was causing. The young man seemed to need no invitation, and took a seat across from him.

"So, after Clara Crane died, which by the way, was natural causes. The town likes to hype things up, and make it seem like some kinda spectacle, but it wasn't. It was real quiet, and nothing creepy about it."

At least there was that. One suspect had been eliminated, and it was the one Caleb had been sure was the one who had done the horrific poisonings.

"So what happened?" Caleb folded his hands under his chin, and waited for the guy to start talking.

"After Clara Crane died, her ex-husband sorta went off the rails a little bit. He started actin' out, making a nuisance of himself, and the town had enough. No one had the guts to do anything about it, you know? But most folks, they believed he was the one responsible for the killing of their daughter." It lined up with what the friendly lady, Miss Zelda told him earlier. "So...someone took care of him."

Caleb nodded slowly. "Took care of him... _how_?"

The young man fell silent, and Caleb figured he was probably trying to figure out how to be as delicate as possible. In the few seconds that it took for him to speak again, Caleb's brain had already shifted gears to the actual person responsible for the brutal killings. It had not turned out the way he thought, but that was okay. All that mattered to him, was finding Victor Crane's grave, and doing what John had not done.

"It was real hush-hush, but the mayor, he was real close with Clara's family, and he arranged for someone to...to shoot him. The town was divided about what they thought of who killed the kid, but most didn't believe it was Clara. Most people knew he had done it, and pinned it on her."

"So...where... _is_ Victor Crane buried?" Caleb's body was itching to jump up from the chair he was sitting in, and finish the job.

"In the cemetery. Right off I-40. You can't miss it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates MIGHT be coming daily since I actually have this first story written in its entirety now :)


	7. Chapter 7

If there was one thing that Bobby Singer was sure of, it was that he _never_ thought he would _ever_ be put in the position of having to figure out the nighttime routine of two small children. However, that was exactly where he found himself right after Sam nearly got poisoned by the candy. He supposed he should not have been surprised. After the incident, Dean had retreated to the living room, where he had parked himself for the remainder of the evening, watching a cartoon show. According to the guys, this was something he routinely did whenever he was feeling the loss of his parents, or when he figured he had done something wrong.

It was a habit they were trying to break, but it was not easy getting inside the mind of a five-year-old who had been forced to grow up way beyond his years. Getting up from the kitchen chair, where he had been looking over a few cases Rufus sent his way, he wondered how his friend was still alive, and he wondered how he was supposed to get any work done when his mind was in two places at once. Jim had taken Sam upstairs for his bath, and from the sound of things, it was _not_ going the way Jim imagined it would.

Shaking his head in mild amusement, he peeked his head around the corner. Dean was sprawled over the sofa, his hands resting on his chin, and his feet dangling in the air. It was such an innocent posture, and such a relaxed one for Dean, that it momentarily stole Bobby's breath away. He was not one to get emotional over things, but he couldn't help it when it hit him how cruel the supernatural world was. These boys should be learning how to play ball, and going to school. Not having to figure out a new family structure, and learning about evil, for crying out loud.

There was no doubt in Bobby's mind that John's death, as tragic as it was, was also a blessing in disguise. He knew the new hunter meant well, but over the few months he had been actively engaged in the hunting lifestyle, he let his passion for revenge, blind him to the needs of his small children. Even though Bobby didn't always see eye-to-eye with Caleb, because of his too soft ways, or Jim, because of his annoying habit of trying to see the good in every situation, he knew they were in complete agreement with how they wanted the boys to be raised. And even though Bobby had no clue how it would work to raise them in one place, he was willing to support it as long as it worked.

The one thing that made John's death sting just a _little_ bit more, were his two kids. It had only been two or three days since Dean learned the news, and he was processing it as much as he could. In truth, Bobby did not know how a small child was supposed to figure something like that out. Yes, Dean was mature for his age, he would have to be, but there was no way his brain was caught up enough to understand all that John's dean encompassed. All the child knew, was the sadness of it, and the confusion he felt. And also, his desire to make sure Sam grew up knowing who their father was. It was a goal Bobby fully intended on helping him with.

Stepping around the corner when Dean lazily switched the TV off, he could see how tired the kid was, even though he made a valiant attempt to hide it. Bobby had not been around munchkins the way the other two guys had, but he was pretty sure it was close to Dean's bedtime, and a bath was probably in order for him, too. Dean looked up when he entered the room, but quickly looked away, as though he didn't want the older hunter to catch him in a vulnerable moment. Sitting down next to him, Bobby definitely saw the need for a quick cleanup. Dean's clothes were dirty from the walk in the woods, and his nails had specks of dirt caked underneath them.

It was yet another contrast to how John would have raised them if he had been there. Dean would not have been dirty from playing like a normal child would, but he would have been unclean from doing training drills. Even at five, John had made his instructions to Bobby _very_ clear: Dean needed to be trained, and soon. It was a request Bobby had mostly ignored when he could. It wasn't to spite the hunter, but to give Dean a chance at something else.

"Hey, kid," Bobby ventured, once Dean did not initiate conversation.

"Hi." Casual, yet Bobby saw tension in the way Dean locked his jaw, and the way his muscles bunched up.

"What were you watchin'?"

Dean shrugged, still avoiding Bobby's gaze. "A stupid show."

Bobby shook his head. "Couldn't have been _too_ stupid. I heard you laughin' all the way from the kitchen."

"It _made_ me laugh." Dean seemed disgruntled at that fact.

Bobby nodded slowly. "They do have that power. I bet you're still beating yourself up over Sammy, right?"

The hunter knew he was treading through dangerous waters. It was rare Dean ever allowed himself to be open with anyone, and that included people he was not very comfortable with. Bobby had watched the boys a few times before John died, but it was more often that Jim or Caleb were given the chance to watch them. As a result, Dean was more open with the pastor, and with Caleb than he was with Bobby. He understood it, and did not take it personally.

Not to Bobby's surprise, when confronted with something that ventured even _close_ to the area of emotional vulnerability, Dean immediately turned away from him again, and got up to put some toys away. From the looks of the toys on the floor, they looked to be a mixture of his and his brother's. Bobby watched while Dean determinedly stuffed the toys in the small basket that was in the corner. He wondered where Dean had gotten the steadfast refusal to open himself up to anything that even remotely resembled anything but a stoic-ness that was wrong on a child.

"Sammy could have _died_." Dean finished putting the last of the toys away, and looked around the room for something else to do. Anything but opening up.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah...he could have...but he didn't."

"I helped him open the candy. And it was _bad_ candy." Dean noticed his shoes lying on the floor, and put them where they belonged by the front door.

"Did you know it was bad?" Bobby demanded bluntly.

"No-"

"Did you know Sam could have gotten very sick if he got that candy in his mouth?"

"But-"

"Did you know something would happen to him?"

Dean slowly shook his head, biting his lip. "No."

Bobby knew he was risking a lot by doing this, but he wanted the kid to understand that not _everything_ that happened was his fault. It was a habit he knew would be hard to break, but he wanted to get the groundwork laid, at the very least. Dean stared at him as he got down from the sofa, and got on his level, right in front of him.

"You know that not _everything_ is your fault, right?"

Not to Bobby's surprise, Dean did not deny it. "Sammy-"

"Is fine, and probably splashing the hell outta Jim right now."

A hint of a smile came across Dean's face, but it quickly vanished. "Daddy told me I had a special job." The words barely came out of his mouth, and were more like a whisper.

Bobby could only imagine what Dean's "job" was, and figured it had a lot to do with taking care of his brother, and not a lot about taking care of himself. It was hard to control the look on his face, but he did his level best. He knew how protective Dean was of John's memory, and he was not about to ruin the small amount of progress he was starting to make with him.

"What was your job?" The words came out dryer than he would have wanted them to.

"I have to keep Sammy safe."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, and that's a very important job, idjit, but you know what's kinda neat now?" Dean just stared at him, so Bobby took that as a cue to continue. "Now you have _three_ people who'll kinda take the load off your shoulders once in a blue moon."

"Jim said I'm a..." Dean fell silent while he attempted to locate the right words. "A _Sam Whisperer._ "

"That is a very fitting job title. And you know," Bobby said, standing up, knowing they had to get a move on if Dean was going to go to bed at a decent hour. "That might help us a lot."

"How?" Dean wondered, seeming to catch on to the fact it was time for a transition to bedtime.

"Well, you seem to know what all of his cries mean, and you always know the best way to feed him, and what he needs at any given time."

Dean seemed satisfied with that answer. "I just like him a lot." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, seemingly oblivious to the small chuckle that came from his guardian.

Bobby was not at all familiar with the way Jim and Caleb did the boys' nighttime routine, but he figured Dean would more than likely correct him if he did anything wrong. Following Dean up the stairs, the child stopped at the hallway linen closet, and took out a Batman towel, and a matching washcloth. These items were on Dean's level, along with some things that were probably Sam's. Dean then moved on to his room, with Bobby trailing behind, and selected some pajamas.

They looked cozy enough, and Dean was happy with them. Letting Dean lead the way, Bobby followed him to the bathroom that was spaced between what would be his and Sam's individual rooms in the future. Jim had taken Sam into another bathroom that was located in the master bedroom. It was hard not to be impressed with how attentive to detail Dean was. He knew just what to do, and Bobby let him do it. First thing was first, and that was brushing his teeth. He pulled out a stool, and scrambled on. Once he had done that, it was time for the bath.

The only problem was Dean was not allowed to touch the water faucet by himself. "I need help. Caleb and Jim won't let me do it alone." That seemed to greatly frustrate the child.

"Probably smart." Bobby stepped into the bathroom for the first time, and turned on the warm water, as Dean directed. "Do you know what you're doing? Or do you need some help?"

Dean rolled his eyes, a classic move. "I _know_ what I'm doing. I'm a big boy."

"That you are."

Bobby leaned against the bathroom wall by the door, and observed as Dean washed himself. The five-year-old rejected any offers of assistance, and completed the job to a satisfactory level. The only thing he allowed Bobby to help him with, was washing the shampoo out of his hair. Even though, to Bobby's shock, Dean managed to clear most of it away. After that, he was read to get out of the shower. Even though Bobby considered himself immune to the charms of a child, he could feel his heart soften when he witnessed the boy shivering in the sudden blast of cold.

Grabbing Dean's chosen towel, Bobby wrapped him up in it, and teasingly ruffled his wet hair. It stuck up in all directions, and Dean pretended to be annoyed, but Bobby had seen a flicker of a smile. Next, Dean got himself dressed, which he did all by himself, much to his pride. Next, was Dean's least favorite part: drying his hair.

"I want to do it," Dean insisted, watching Bobby unroll the cord, and plug it in.

"You don't want to get your little fingers burned to a crisp. I'll do this part."

Dean was not happy about this, but he grudgingly allowed it. Carefully handing Dean the blow-dryer, he watched while he hesitantly took on the enormous task before him. He did not get all of it done, but that was when he let Bobby take over. Together, the two of them finished his bath routine, and got him into the bedroom he shared with Sam for the time being. Sam was still awake in his crib, and turned his head curiously when he heard his brother and Bobby approaching.

As was customary, Dean had to say goodnight to his little brother. Striding across the room to his crib, Dean waited for Bobby to lift him up, and then he leaned his head down to kiss Sam. Sam instantly responded to Dean, and threaded his fingers through Dean's hair, and cooed in appreciation. It was touching to see, and Bobby, not for the first time, found himself glad the two boys had one another. Once Dean was down from the crib, Bobby watched him bound across the room to his own bed. It was something he was well-versed in doing, and it absolutely showed.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean said, scooting down in his bed. His eyes were downcast, uncertain.

"What is it, Dean?" Bobby checked, figuring it was something for the kid to be looking at him like he was.

"Can you...can you lay that white stuff across the window?" He gestured to the window that was right across from his bed.

Bobby's heart did a strange somersault. He was sure Dean had been well-introduced to many aspects of the hunting life in the time he had been on the road, and salt would have been no exception. When he thought of it long enough, he was even sure John probably taught Dean a little something about laying it across the doors or windows.

"Why do you want the salt, Dean?" Bobby inquired, looking in the closet as he spoke, and noticing a small bag.

"Daddy said it would keep Sammy safe. And _me_ safe."

Bobby nodded slowly, grasping the bag in one hand. "Do you feel unsafe, Dean?"

Dean shook his head at once. "No. I just want it in case."

"Okay, that's fine." Dean watched the hunter's every move as he methodically laid the salt over the windowsill.

"And the door?" Dean prompted, when he noticed Bobby about to put the bag away.

"Of course, rugrat," Bobby said, obliging Dean's request, and laying a thick layer of salt across the doorway, and then waving a goodnight to him, before leaving the door ajar a little. The downstairs light was on, and he knew Jim would be wide awake still, and likely looking into some potential cases.

He made a mental note to himself to check into installing wards, or something that might make Dean feel just a little bit better. Even though the kid would deny it until he was blue in the face, he was scared of something. Bobby hoped that maybe once Caleb got back from the job, he would be able to open up more. He hoped so for Dean's sake. The kid had been asking about Caleb, and when he would be back, and it was difficult to not be able to give him a clear answer.

The hunt had taken many twists and turns, and seemed to finally be headed in the direction of completion. Caleb was of the opinion that if he got to the grave that night, and there were no complications, he could be on his way home sometime the next afternoon. He hoped so. He had cases he needed to check out for Rufus, but he wasn't sure if he should leave Jim or not. The pastor was capable, but the spirit targeting Sam, had made all of them a little uneasy. Shaking his head, he could not believe he was playing nanny to two little kids. It was equal parts laughable as it was scary.

As he suspected. Jim was still conscious, and had a large cup of coffee in front of him, and a file that was wide open in front of him. Giving him a look that seemed to communicate all they needed to say about the boys, Bobby helped himself to some of his favorite beverage of the alcoholic kind, and took a seat across from the pastor. Jim lifted his eyebrows at Bobby's choice of drink, but did not comment on it. Instead, he underlined some key points of interest in his case, and then shook his head as though doubting his moves. It was rare to see Jim frustrated abut anything, but times had been tough as of late.

When Bobby looked closely enough, he could also see another file underneath the one Jim was currently working on. It was not like him to have more than one case, and he wondered when he would find the time to complete them all. In the stillness of the night, he could hear nothing other than the occasional car driving down the road, and the sound of the coffee machine. It was nice, because their mornings tended to start quite early.

"Are the boys down?" Jim asked, glancing up from his mountain of paperwork.

"Like a light." Bobby took a satisfying pull from his drink. "I tell you, that kid has it all worked out."

Jim did not need any telling on who Bobby meant. "Oh, yeah. If it's humanly possible for him to do it, he will absolutely do it."

"He asked for me to lay a line of salt down." He had been debating whether or not to worry Jim with that information, but he figured he was obligated.

To his surprise, Jim did not seem surprised by this revelation. Instead, he nodded as though he was well-used to this by now.

"He started asking right after...after we told him about John."

"Is it every night?" Bobby hated the fact that the kid was so afraid, and even more so that he would never talk openly about it.

"Every time he thinks about it." It was not hard to see the hard truth that Dean was traumatized by what happened to him, and Bobby would have thought it odd if he hadn't been.

"What's the game plan right now? He and Sam gonna share a room?"

Jim nodded, glancing up at Bobby, before looking back down at his case. When he looked at him, Bobby could see just how tired the pastor was. Not only did he have a job outside of hunting, but he also hunted whenever something caught his eye. And now, he was suddenly being thrust in the position of raising two little boys. Although, Bobby knew he would not have it any other way.

"For right now, yeah. When Dean's ready, we'll move him into the room next to Sam's, but he feels safer with Sam right now."

"What's the lowdown on those cases?" Bobby could not see what was under the first case, but he only assumed it was yet another job on the line.

"This one...it's something in Jersey. It's kinda difficult to work out the specs of it, but something about a road where people have seen "flashes" of little girls skipping across, and then those people end up either dead or seriously wounded."

Bobby had heard of strange cases before, and he was sure it would not be the last time, either, but this one seemed to take the cake. He also briefly wondered _why_ they were suddenly being inundated with cases involved kids. Every one of them approached those cases differently, with Caleb always responding with the most compassion and the most heartfelt way.

"Sounds lovely," Bobby commented dryly. "What about that chunk down there?" He pointed at the second one he had been wondering about.

Jim hesitated, before pulling out the folder. He slid it across for Bobby to inspect, and his curiosity only grew stronger. Giving him a brief look before opening it, he saw immediately that it was not a case, but information on how to go about obtaining custody of children who were not biologically yours. The list of options was like someone speaking a different language, but Jim had circled two options he was considering: Legal custody, and guardianship.

Bobby had not the faintest idea of what the difference was, but it seemed to make some kind of difference. Underneath the two terms, was a phone number for an attorney. Her name did not ring a bell for the hunter, but he figured it was someone either Jim or Caleb knew.

"We have to make some decisions," Jim said, folding his hands under his chin. "Guardianship was my first go-to...but it's not as legally binding as legal custody. With that, we have complete control over everything."

"Yeah...so who's gonna file for it?"

"I figured that...I would file for the legal custody, and Caleb could maybe be added as having joint custody."

"Would the courts do that?" Bobby had no clue how the court system worked, other than the brief times he had to sit in front of a judge.

"The only issue I see is that," Jim smiled wryly. "Caleb doesn't have a _terrible_ record, but it's not-"

"Squeaky clean like yours?"

"In a sense. I want him to have joint-custody, and maybe you have guardianship, too, but you both have more of a record than I do."

* * *

This was the part of the job Caleb looked foreword to after a too long hunt. The chance to do the back-breaking work of digging up a grave of a spirit, and properly disposing of the body. This spirit, though, Caleb knew he would feel a grim sort of satisfaction with seeing this spirit burn. The case had always been personal, but after Sam had nearly been poisoned with the candy, it had taken on an urgency that was hard to work with.

Stopping his truck outside the gates of the cemetery, he scrubbed a hand down his face, and reached in the small back of the truck for the tools he would need. These were tools he had worked with nearly his whole hunting career, and searching for them was next to nothing for him. Fingering the shovel in one hand, and a small bag that held the other equipment he would need to carry out a successful salt and burn, he got out and crossed over to the gate. It was bolted shut, but that was no issue for him. Getting out bolt cutters, he had the gate open in next to nothing, and lengthened his stride to the correct grave.

It was not hard to find the correct grave, and once he did, his heart quickened in anticipation of finishing what had taken so much out of not only him, but also Sam and Dean, and Jim and Bobby. Taking a comforting deep breath, he set down the things he would need later, and took a firm hold over his shovel. His heart pounded, but he ignored the feeling of it, and got to digging. It was his least favorite part of the job, but a crucial one, at that. Stopping only momentarily to wipe the sweat from his brow, he straightened up when he heard _something_ behind him. Taking his flashlight, he slowly moved it around the empty cemetery. He hoped it was not the police, and certainly not the spirit of Victor Crane.

Slowly returning to the task at hand once he was relatively sure there was nothing there at the moment, he took a split second to glance into the grave that held the casket of the one person who had caused so much damage. Once he was free from the constraints of his mind, he hopped down inside, and prepared for the next part. This was always the most vulnerable position for a hunter to be in. Inside the grave, there was less move for a person to move around, and therefore, less of a chance to defend himself in the event of a sudden attack. With that thought in mind, he used all the strength he had to smash through the casket.

Covering his nose at the sudden influx of scent that came over him, he did what he had to do to douse the spirit in salt and then the lighter fluid. Heaving himself out of the grave once this part was finally complete, he pulled out a cigarette lighter, and watched as the bones of the spirit were finally put to rest.

"Good riddance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But is it REALLY the end?


	8. Chapter 8

The house was dark, and there was hardly any noise apart from the occasional car that rumbled down the road. It was the kind of quiet that enabled Jim to have some measure of peace and solitude, even if that bliss came at the expense of staying up in the wee hours. He did not mind it in the slightest, because it gave him a chance to think and to have a moment to collect his thoughts. In the few days since they found out for sure John died, it had been hard to have a moment to process their enormous loss. He had been so busy helping Dean through his pain, that he had not taken the time to take his own into account.

Sitting down at the kitchen table that was full of bills, and more pressing, a new case, he tried to think around the hazy fog that was settling over his mind. He had the new case in New Jersey to consider, and also the other paperwork that was pushing its way to the center of his mind. Leaving that for when he was done familiarizing himself with the particulars of this hunt, he got out his pen and tried to slip into a mindset that left all else out. It was not easy with everything that happened lately, but he was determined to give it a try. The first thing he noticed when he flipped to the first page, was the reality that they were dealing with another case involving a child.

From the preliminary report, it seemed as though there was an abandoned road out in a rural county. That in and of itself would not be anything to be concerned about, but it was the strange sightings and injuries that had been reported in recent decades. Leaning closer to the paper in front of him, he circled several key points of interest. The most recent victim, a young teacher, reported seeing a flash of two children running across the road, and then her car suddenly flipped, and she was in the hospital. This was definitely something he would need to check on, but he wondered when he would find the time, and how he would go about the investigation.

Taking a rest from the case, he took a long sip from his cup of coffee, and tried to calm his mind down, but he knew that would be a pointless endeavor. Once he got something in his heart, there was little he could do to make that go away. And the other file below his case, was taunting him with how close it was. That would be something he would have to look at before too long, and he dreaded it. Swiping a hand across his eyes, he listened for the sounds of the two boys. Bobby had taken over their nighttime routine after he put Sam to bed, and he was grateful. It gave him a chance to catch his breath, and also dry his clothes off. Sam seemed to think it would be hilarious to splash him without mercy in the tub.

In truth, Jim was surprised Dean allowed Bobby to help him. The kid was extremely regimented, and seemed to have his own schedule down to a "T." Every night, there was little he or Caleb had to do to help him get ready for bed, apart from making sure they plugged in the blow-dryer, and watched him while he washed himself off. The fact he diverted from his routine to let Bobby, someone he did not know as well, help him, was an encouraging sign for the pastor. When he listened beyond the sound of his heartbeat, he could hear Dean saying something to Bobby, and the hunter responding to him. For all his rough and gruff ways, Bobby loved the boys as much as he and Caleb did.

Checking the phone by habit, he wished Caleb would call. It had been awhile since he heard anything from the young hunter regarding the hunt, and he was anxious to find out what the status was. It was Caleb's belief that if he found the grave and there was no further issues, he would have the case closed by morning, and then be on his way back to Minnesota. He hoped so. The boys had been through so much in their short lives, and they needed to know that yet another person wasn't going to disappear. Taking a deep breath, he tried his best to be patient. It would not do any good to fret now, not when they were so close to closing this painful chapter.

Looking up when Bobby suddenly entered the kitchen, he knew Dean was either asleep, or well on his way. In general, the five-year-old did not like to be left alone before he fell asleep, and usually requested that Caleb lay with him and read him a story. In typical Caleb fashion, he always obliged, and even rubbed his back as he fell asleep. Jim had truthfully never met someone as gentle and kind as Caleb, especially in a hunter. And not for the first time, the pastor was incredibly grateful Dean had him. He lost count of how many times he would hear them whispering to each other in the night, and making finger puppets on the ceiling, and Dean being able to pour his soul out like he could with no one else. It was with Caleb that he talked about anything and everything, but mostly his pain that he kept so locked up.

Bobby gave him a look that meant all was well, and crossed over to the fridge. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the choice of drink Bobby chose to indulge in, but did not say anything. They all had their own ways to unwind after a long day, and their day had been a long one that had culminated in Sam nearly getting a bite of the poisoned candy, and not to mention, their long walk in the woods before that. Watching Bobby out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the hunter as he sat down across from him to revel in the alcoholic beverage. Bobby stared at the stack he had in front of him, but did not comment. As though that was a reminder of the case he had in front of him, he turned back to it and tried to suss out some more information on the victims.

There was no link between the victims, and the years between the killings were scattered. There was nothing gluing them together, apart from the same stretch of road, and the gender always seemed to be girls, apart from one glaring exception, and that had been the young son of the town mayor. It was frustrating not to be able to have any solid leads to go on, and he found himself sighing in frustration more than he cared to admit. Beyond the case, his thoughts were also consumed with the boys, and about a million different things they needed to figure out for them.

One of the more pressing concerns was arranging custody of them. Jim was no fool, and he knew it would not be long before someone in the courts figured out that the boys were with someone other than their father. When that happened, he knew they needed to make a plan of action. As he told Bobby about all this and filled him in on his thoughts, it was momentarily overwhelming. Guardianship was a quicker avenue to explore, but it was not as legally binding as legal custody was. Legal custody could be given to him, and Caleb could be added as having joint-custody, since he would be living with them, and Bobby could assume the role of guardian. It was not a perfect system, but it was the best one he could think of.

Bobby and Caleb did not have perfect records, and while neither of their offenses were violent ones, he doubted it would make much of a difference to family court. A record was a record, and anything other than a traffic ticket would be analyzed. He hoped it would be easy for him to assume custody of the boys, along with Caleb, because he did not want to have to go through a long, drawn-out battle that would result in more pain for them. Shortly after their conversation, Bobby made the choice to take off to help Rufus with a case. From the sound of it, it was quite the doozy, and Jim wondered how Rufus managed to get himself into those cases.

Now that he was alone, he knew he needed to get upstairs and check on the boys. Dumping his coffee in the sink, and tucking his files away for further inspection in a few hours, he made his way upstairs. Everything was quiet at first, but the closer he got to the boys' room, the more he heard the sound of a quiet whimper. That was a first, and he did not hesitate to open the door. It was Dean, and he was twisting and turning in his bed, the comforter wrapped around his legs as he flailed. Crossing the room in a quick stride, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Dean into his lap. The kid resisted at first until he seemed to come to his senses, and he realized who it was.

This was something new. Dean was not someone who had nightmares, even though he had plenty of reason to have them, and Jim could not recall John ever bringing up the fact Dean was suffering from them. It broke Jim's heart, especially when he noticed how hard Dean was sweating, and how his little hand searched blindly for something, before coming to rest on Jim's shirt. The pastor did not know what to say, so he settled for holding him until Dean calmed down. The child did not reject the touch like he usually would have, but instead seemed to settle into it. It was difficult to imagine the horrors Dean had seen in his young life. He had offered brief snapshots to the guys, but nothing concrete.

"Dean," Jim ventured, rubbing Dean's back. The child did not respond, but his body was trembling. "Dean-"

"It was warm...and then it was really cold," Dean murmured, his eyes clenched shut.

"What...what was, Dean?"

"My room..." Dean opened his eyes, and stared around his _new_ room, as though anticipating that same, formidable heat. "And then...I took Sammy outside."

He had been having a nightmare about the night his mother died. Jim closed his eyes, wondering how best to help the child through that. No words came to his mind, so he simply held him, rocking him back and forth. How could any child be expected to go through a trauma like that, and come out of it without any scars? It was not realistic, and Jim hated that Dean's pain had been brushed over in the months since his mother died, and instead he had been made to feel all that mattered was that he be a child soldier, except for the instances he had to take care of his brother.

"And then what?" Jim gently prodded, searching around the room for a new shirt for Dean. His top was completely soaked through. Carefully shifting Dean to his bed, he strode over to his dresser, and searched through his pajama drawer. He was no expert in dressing, but he figured he would like something Batman-related.

"And then Daddy's breath smelled weird." Dean made a face, and held up his arms for Jim to take his shirt off. "And he talked funny."

"I bet that was very scary, Dean," Jim said, noticing that the child was barely awake, and was probably still somewhat in the throes of the nightmare.

"Sammy cried _a lot._ "

Jim nodded. "I bet he was scared, just like you were." He got Dean's new shirt on, and checked his sheets. They were sweaty, but that was all. He weighed the pros and cons of making Dean get out of bed just to change them, but decided against it. Instead, he settled for putting a towel over the wet part. "It's a good thing he had you."

Dean considered this, and nodded. "I let him eat my Cheerios."

"That's nice, Dean," Jim affirmed, before gently taking Dean and lying him back down against his soft pillow. Dean froze, before seeming to understand that he was safe. He curled up on his side, and hesitantly closed his eyes, as though he was afraid to fall back asleep. Jim knew he was not going anywhere until Dean was back under, and comfortable. He propped himself against Dean's headboard, and patted his back. Sammy, in all the commotion, had not woken up. The hunter was grateful for that, because he knew none of them would be getting any sleep if he did.

"Jim?" Dean mumbled, his voice sluggish.

"Yeah, dude?" Jim ducked his head to look at Dean.

"When...when is Caleb coming back?"

"Well, he should be here maybe tomorrow night, but probably the next day."

Dean nodded, his movements getting slower. "Is he...is he saving people? Like _Daddy_?"

Jim pondered that question for a minute. "I think he is."

That was the best answer he hoped to give to Dean. He wasn't sure how much Dean knew about the supernatural, but he knew it had robbed him of the innocence that he so desperately deserved. It was the same kind of sweetness that he used to see in his own children, before evil decided to take them away. His youngest had been just a little older than Dean, and he reminded Jim of that fierce little girl. He missed them, but on nights like that, when he was faced with the supernatural taking yet another life, that loss was cruelly brought to the forefront of his mind again.

Shaking off those thoughts, he looked down at Dean, and saw a million questions fly through his mind. He wondered if the child would voice them, or if he would let them stay seated in his brain. Switching from patting to rubbing, he was stunned Dean did not protest, but he figured the kid was finally admitting to himself that he needed to feel comfort once in awhile, or maybe he realized that it was _safe_ for him to let his guard down around his new family. Whatever the reason, he was thankful for it.

Dean stayed awake for only a few minutes more. His eyes were closed for awhile, but Jim knew the difference between him being awake, and him being asleep. One he was sure Dean was asleep, he gently extricated himself from his bed, and tiptoed out of the room. Looking at the clock in his own bedroom, he was not at all shocked to see that it was nearing two in the morning. In only a few hours, Sam would be the first one to wake him, and his routine would start all over again. For the moment, though, he was determined to get some semblance of sleep. Slipping beneath his covers, Jim forced his mind to shut off, and worry about all the things he had to worry about _when_ he woke up.

* * *

There was always a certain high that came from successfully completing a hunt. Especially a complicated hunt that took everything out of a person, and that was what Caleb felt like as he drove away from the cemetery, and to the nearest gas station. He needed to refuel, and he needed some caffeine. Squinting his eyes as he tried to stay awake long enough to reach his apartment, he saw the familiar sign of the only gas station in the tiny town, and pulled in. Stopping at the front, he took a big breath and got out. The salt and burn had gone much smoother than he originally imagined, and while it did not sit right with him, he was hardly in the position to question it. The salt and burn going right, meant that he was that much closer to being reunited with Sam and Dean.

Stepping into the gas station, his eyes automatically scanned the large space before him. It was a habit that had been born out of years of hunting, and being trained to always look for the unexpected. Finding nothing that raised an alarm, he got some of the blessed coffee, and paid for his gas. Stopping at the pump, his mind was still whispering to him that something wasn't right. The hunter did not know if this was simply a performance high that was crashing, or if it was real. Getting back in his truck, he stayed for a minute as he contemplated his next move. His apartment was half an hour away in the opposite direction, and the grave was only a few minutes from there. He could swing by, make sure he crossed all his 'T's' and dotted all his 'I's.

Reaching for his bag, he pulled out one of his favorite Cookies n' Cream candy bars, and decided to mull over this while he ate. No sooner had he ripped off the wrapper, and taken a big bite into the candy, did he feel it. "WHAT THE HELL?" Caleb spit out what he could of the candy bar, but the damage had been done. The roof of his mouth was burning white-hot with pain, and when he reached inside to feel around, he felt something that made his heart do a complicated somersault: A nail. The nail was still lodged in the roof his mouth, and it was then he realized what the spirit had used to make those kids lose their teeth.

Pulling out the nail, he noticed the blood on it. Reaching for a bottle of water, that he smelled before drinking, he took a few long sips and tried to wash away the metallic taste of blood. It was not easy when there was so much of it, but he managed to dull it a little. He could only imagine what his mouth looked like, but at the moment, he did not have the time to worry about that. There was no question in his mind that he was still dealing with the spirit of Victor Crane, and it enraged him. Pulling his truck out of the dark gas station, he broke just about every speeding law there was.

When his mind slowed down to consider everything that just happened to him, it bewildered him. Of course, he heard stories of spirits being tied to certain things after death, and hunters would have to burn those things, too, but he had never been faced with something like that before. Now, however, he was convinced he was. This spirit, for whatever reason, refused to go on to wherever they went, and it would give him no greater pleasure than to force the process along. His mouth was still throbbing, and still bleeding, but the young hunter managed it. Gripping the steering wheel as tight as he could, he felt his adrenaline shoot upward when the cemetery finally came into view again.

The entrance was still unsealed from the bolt cutters he used earlier. It would give him one less thing to worry about. Grabbing only what he needed this time since the grave was open and exposed, he made sure he had what he needed to finish the job for good this time. Walking across the lawn toward the one grave that was in a bad way, he felt something move around him that made him realize he was _not_ alone. Lengthening his stride, he was not going to engage with this spirit unless he had to. Gripping the shovel in his hand, his fingers turned white around it. Stopping at the grave, he could see no reason why this spirit was still around. The bones had been fully burned, and there was nothing in the grave apart from what remained of the coffin.

He knew what to do, but the move was risky. If he jumped down in the grave and dug around for clues, he would risk the spirit attacking him in a confined space. However, the choice was taken out of his hands, when something (or _someone_ ) shoved him down. Reacting instinctively, he fired a shot from the rock/salt gun, and actually saw a brief flash of the man, before he vanished. Even in death, Victor Crane looked _mean_. There was no other way to describe him, and Caleb understood why so many believed the truth about him, and his role in his child's death. The rock/salt would only hold him off for a little bit, and in that time, he needed to find whatever it was that was holding him to the earth.

Caleb had no clue if it could be found in the grave, but he could only pray. Grabbing his shovel, he smashed through the remaining bits of the coffin, and looked. There was nothing that was obvious to the eye, but it could still be hidden. This spirit was extremely protective of this space, and he figured there had to be a reason for it. Digging his shovel down deep, he pulled out as much earth as he could, before he saw it. Reaching for his gun, he barely had time to move, before a nail was thrust at his eye. Firing a round, he missed. Swearing under his breath, he increased the pace he was digging, and tried to see in the dark. His flashlight was in his bag, and he did not want to let go of the gun or the shovel.

"Come _on_!" Caleb gritted his teeth, and tried to calm himself down.

Finally digging to a point where the shovel hit something hard, he was about to uncover it further, when something threw him against the wall of the grave. The breath was knocked out of him for a second, but it did not deter him. The spirit was standing before him, and he was finally able to get a good look at his maniacal face, before he succeeded in firing a round at him. Scrambling to his feet, he reached for the shovel again, and finished digging. Looking down at the tin that had been buried under the casket, his curiosity went into overdrive. Opening it, he felt disgust color his feelings. It was a bag of candy that was both real and fake. Mixed among the candy pieces, was a picture of his child.

He did not waste any time wondering what that meant. All that mattered to him, was the end result of finding this. Following the same pattern he used for burning the bones, he threw the tin on the ground and climbed out of the grave. He stood there, watching as the tin slowly crumbled into nothing. It was the end, and he knew it. He had finally killed the spirit of the man who murdered his friend, and the boys' father. Now, he knew that he could pack up his things, and go _home._ There, he knew he would face _many_ more challenges from both the courts, and in helping the boys find a new normal, but it was worth it.


	9. Chapter 9

Grief through the eyes of a child was a strangely fascinating, but tragic thing to bear witness to. Some asked questions, that was normal for a curious, naturally eager child, some were silent, asking little, but observing and absorbing everything that went on around them.

Dean was one of the quiet ones. He rarely asked questions, instead he contented himself with sitting back and watching as the grownups conversed amongst each other.

It was heartbreaking to watch a normally outgoing kid, retreat further back into the protective shell he had placed around himself when his mother had first died. It was hard to watch him regress backwards.

"Why did Daddy die?" Dean asked one afternoon, a few weeks after John had died. He and Jim had finished playing with Sammy, and were cleaning up the markers and crayons he had littered all over the floor.

Jim stared at him, never recalling saying in those _exact_ words that John had died. He thought those words would be far too morbid for a child to understand, but Dean, as per usual, was way too smart for his age.

"Dean, how did you-"

"I _know_ what that means," Dean interjected with an uncharacteristic (for his age) scoff. "I watch TV. The same thing happened to Mommy," he stated matter-of-factly, as if Jim didn't understand that.

"It did," Jim said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You know, Dean, your Daddy helped people."

Dean nodded in understanding. While he did not fully understand all that John had done, he still had basic understanding of the great work his dad had done.

"And while he was helping someone, the angels decided that he was far too good, and that he needed to be with them, with your Mommy."

"And grandma and grandpa," Dean reminded him.

Jim nodded. "That's right."

Dean was quiet for several minutes as he processed the plethora of information he had just received. For many children, it would be too much, but for his age, Dean had seen way much more than he should have.

It had cruelly matured him beyond his five short years, but it had also gifted him with a brain that most children didn't have.

After that, Jim, as well as Caleb and Bobby, noticed a marked difference in the five-year-old, as he played with Sam with much more gusto, and seemed actively interested in the things that were going on around him, especially when it came to school and the renovation of one of the upstairs guest rooms that was being transformed into a bedroom for he and Sam.

"Batman is the _best_ ," Dean stated one afternoon, as he walked into the freshly painted bedroom, wrinkling his nose in distaste of the smell, as he looked up at Caleb as he painted the wall.

"Indeed he is," Caleb agreed. "Not like those puny other superheroes."

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Batman would kick the other's _butts_!"

Caleb stifled a laugh as he put down the brush in the tray. "Are you excited to go see Uncle Bobby tomorrow?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

It had been agreed that the boys would spend the weekend with Bobby since both Caleb and Jim had work and hunting commitments up on the plate at the same time.

"Are you going to play hide and seek with the cars?"

"Yeah. I have to teach Sammy." Dean stated it as though it was his express mission in life to teach his brother that crucial game.

"You'll be the _best_ instructor!"

Dean had been so depressed that it was nice to see an actual smile grace his face at the thought of going to Bobby's, and teaching his brother something new.

With a grin, Caleb fingered a small bit of blue paint and dabbed it on Dean's nose. " _Now_ you look like Batman."

"I do," Dean smiled. "If I had a cape, I could be _just_ like him."

Caleb shook his head in amusement. "You look pretty authentic to me."

"That's because you're _supposed_ to say that," Dean reminded him.

The next day was rough. Caleb and Jim both had to wake up early in order to get the boys up and ready for the long journey ahead of them. Sam slept through most of the preparations, while Dean lingered around the guys, sleepily observing their work as he hovered around Caleb or Jim's legs.

"Okay, Dean," Caleb said, knowing how much Dean needed to feel like he had a job. "Can you take this cooler out to the car for me?"

"That's _kid_ work!" Dean protested, but he also liked knowing he was needed, so he obliged.

Caleb handed him the light cooler, before bringing some more snacks from the road out and placing them in the front seat. He had no idea that taking two boys on a several hour car journey would be so stressful logistics wise.

It almost made him rethink their plan.

Almost.

The eager looks from both boys, kept him on the original plan as he loaded more gear into the car before getting into the driver's seat.

"What kind of songs should we listen to?"

"AC/DC," Dean said proudly. "They're the _best_!"

"Okay..." Jim agreed hesitantly, clearly not used to listening to that kind of music.

"Sure you'll be forgiven?" Caleb asked mock seriously as he put in the tape.

Jim ignored him as the heavy bass and drums from the songs filled the car. Dean was in his element as he rocked in his car seat to the beat of the music.

Beside him, Sam clapped his tiny hands to the beat of the music, and kicked the back of Caleb's seat. In response, the young hunter reached around and tickled Sam's knee. The baby squealed in delight, and reached out to play with Caleb's fingers.

Both boys were remarkably good travelers. The guys were glad for that; even though they disagreed with much of what John had done after Mary's death, the constant travel had not been a bad thing. If Dean was not staring out the window, he was trying to teach Sam the lyrics to AC/DC.

Before too long (and to their relief), both boys fell asleep soon after lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...my update schedule will most likely be Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday :) I have this first story in the 'verse fully written, so updates are going to be consistent like this.


	10. Chapter 10

"Uncle" Bobby's eccentric home in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, was as unusual a house as any normal visitor would ever see: Books on hunting lore stacked haphazardly to the ceiling, multiple phone lines in the kitchen that ran a constant line of communication between he and any other person that needed his expert help.

As someone who was somewhat stationary, Bobby had turned into a sort of mentor to other hunters, and had made himself available if anyone needed help. Sometimes, he regretted setting that precedent.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean asked, as he ambled over to Bobby, and perched himself on the worn couch. "What's this book?"

He innocently held out a thick volume that dealt with the supernatural world's most dangerous and feared creature: The hellhound. Capable of tearing a person to shreds without barely blinking. Bobby had never dealt with one personally, but he knew the stories.

"That," Bobby explained, reaching for the book and putting it safely out of Dean's curious hands. "Is a _very_ special book for grown ups."

"Why?" Dean challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Because there are some things a snot nosed little brat like yourself can't look at right now," Bobby said teasingly. "In time, though," he added, seeing Dean's little face fall in disappointment.

"Can I teach Sammy how to play hide and go seek?"

"I think that would be a great idea," Bobby agreed. "Just be careful, make sure he doesn't go near those stairs."

"Okay."

Having the boys playing quietly while he made return calls to contacts, all the while preparing dinner for them, was nice. He never entirely stopped worrying about them, but childproofing the house as much as possible, went a long ways in easing his anxiety about it. Swearing under his breath when he burned his hand, he swore he could have heard a clatter, followed by Sam's mew-like cries.

"Sammy fell," Dean announced, his little feet clattering across the wood flooring as he held Sam's tearful hand. "He tripped on the floor," he added, looking resentfully at Bobby, as though Bobby should have known about the floor and fixed it.

"Let me see," Bobby said, kneeling down in front of the one year old and checking his leg for injuries. "Well, Dean, it looks like he just scraped it."

A Dinosaur bandage later, and some juice, and Sam was happily eating his fries and burger that Bobby had cut up for him. Dean, of course, hadn't let go of his brother's injury and kept checking him anxiously, as though he was afraid Sam would suddenly disappear.

"Can you fix the floor _tonight_?" He inquired when dinner was over, and Bobby was preparing them for their evening baths.

"I'll do my best."

Bath time was the usual fun affair, as Sam made every opportunity to splash his way out of the tub. Bedtime was slower, quieter as Bobby went about a familiar routine he had established with the boys before John died, and read to them, before leaving one light on for their security, and turning the rest off.

"Goodnight," Dean slurred, already half asleep, as he rolled over on his side, clutching his pillow tightly to his chest.

"Goodnight, idjit," Bobby replied, with a rare smile on his face, before softly shutting the door behind him.

It had been a few days since Jim and Caleb had dropped the boys off, and needless to say, those two boys had exhausted Bobby. He was used to working at all hours of the night to satisfy the demands and needs of the people he helped, but being responsible for the lives of two toddlers, was another thing.

"What are you looking at?" He grumbled, rolling his eyes at his dog. It was never a bad thing to have an animal that was prone to sensing the supernatural.

Of course Caleb and Jim had called twice, maybe three times a day to check in on the boys, and Bobby couldn't blame them. Losing John had been a shock to all of them, and none of them were eager to repeat the experience over again.

"Hello?" He spoke into the phone when it rang off the hook, assuming of course that it was one of the guys checking in again. He was beginning to wonder if they trusted him with the boys.

_"Bobby?"_

"Rufus?" He adjusted the phone deeper into the crook of his shoulder. He and Rufus Turner had been friends long before he knew John, Caleb or Jim. The two hadn't talked in years, not since an accident where someone Rufus had loved, had died.

" _You told me to keep you posted on things, and call if I needed help. I don't need help, per se, but I found something that might interest you."_

"And what's that?"

He wasn't in the mood to hear about his crazy ramblings and theories. He was thrilled to hear from his friend, but not at the cost of his sanity and whatever sleep he could be enjoying. As he thought of that, he tiredly rubbed his eyes.

_"Some crazy ass storms up here, Bobby, electrical shortages, some fires in family style homes."_

Bobby felt his blood run cold, and not from the faulty furnace that he needed to fix. "Say that again." His hand tightened around the receiver so hard that he was surprised it didn't break.

" _I recognized the signs, and I remembered hearing that John Winchester had been killed a few weeks ago. I put two and two together-"_

"Congratulations, you learned math," Bobby said dryly. "Now get to the part that was _so_ important you had to call me at ten at night."

" _That demon, the one that's causing all of these power storms is where you are, Bobby. Right there in Sioux Falls."_


	11. Chapter 11

The life of a hunter was always unpredictable. At any minute, you could be faced with a quick life or death decision, one that you had to make to be smarter, to be on top of the enemy so they wouldn't kill you.

When hunters were entrusted with the lives of their own children, or children that had, by some matter or another, dropped into their hands and immediate danger presented itself, it didn't matter if those children were blood related or not, they were family and they had to be protected at all costs.

Most hunters saw children as innocent victims of the hunting lifestyle, and so saw a moral obligation to protect them above anything or _anyone_ else.

For Bobby, it was a little more personal than just feeling an "obligation" to protect Sam and Dean. The boys were like family, so was their father. When John had died, Bobby, Caleb and Jim had sworn to each other to protect them at all costs, to make sure they grew up safe and loved.

Hearing that evil was present in his town, and was likely scouring the countryside looking for him, was enough for the older hunter to snap out of his stupor, and make the necessary arrangements for them. Once that was done, he went through the process of waking them up.

"Uncle Bobby, where are we going?" Dean wondered, his voice thick with sleep as Bobby guided him outside into the crisp evening night, and quickly strapped Dean and his brother into their respective car seats.

"We're going on a journey, Dean," Bobby answered, trying to inject as much excitement into his voice as possible. "Do you have your blanket and snacks?"

"Uh-huh." His green eyes were barely open, as they focused on his guardian.

"Good."

Dean was calm, as per usual, when situations became stressful. He was silent as he snuggled against his blanket, his sharp, observant eyes watching everything Bobby was doing as he started up the car and pulled out of his salvage yard, and on to the main highway out of town.

"Sammy's hungry," Dean stated, after a few mindless hours of driving down the highway, passing hundreds, maybe thousands of cars.

"Does he have some of the animal crackers I packed?"

"Yeah. Can I give him some?"

"Sure."

It was touching to look in the rearview mirror and see Dean tenderly feed Sam animal crackers, and then share his blanket with him. Brotherly love was a special, unique bond, and Bobby felt privileged to be an observer to that.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked a few hours later.

"To a friend's house," Bobby replied.

Truth was, he had considered making the shorter trip back to Blue Earth where Caleb and Jim were, but any demon that would be watching them, would know that would be where Bobby would be inclined to go first.

"Oh. Are they nice?" Dean asked.

"Very. And they have a nice big lake to poke around in."

"Really?"

Bobby chuckled at the enthusiasm in the five-year-old's voice. Dean was nothing if not his father's son through and through, and that included his father's natural daredevil attitude.

"Really," Bobby affirmed.

"Do they like AC/DC?"

"I know Bill does."

Dean thought about that. "Does he 'wike the cwassics?"

Bobby shook his head. "I'm sure."

His friends, Bill and Ellen Harvelle, lived in Nebraska. A nice long distance from Sioux Falls, and most importantly, any demon that would be searching out the boys.

After that, both boys fell asleep, much to Bobby's relief. It gave him a chance to think. It gave him a chance to mull over his next course of action. After he got the boys to safety, he wasn't sure what his next steps would be.

It was well after dawn when Bobby, at long last, pulled off the freeway and onto the more rural area of Nebraska, where his friends lived. It was a long drive, but worth it if it meant keeping Sam and Dean safe.

When he saw the turnoff to the Harvelle's road, he breathed a private sigh of relief. They lived on a well isolated stretch of land that was far removed from the main road, and well away from any stragglers that might come.

"Dean," Bobby said, reaching back and shaking Dean's knee. "We're here, buddy."

"Okay," the child moaned, barely controlling a yawn as he rubbed his eyes with his tiny fists. "I need to wake Sammy up."

"You can, or you can let him sleep," Bobby shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

As he pulled up to the modestly-sized two-story house, he saw Bill, in his typical white cowboy hat, and his wife, Ellen, standing on the wraparound porch.

"Bobby, finally," Ellen breathed , when Bobby first stepped foot outside the car. "We were starting to get worried about you."

"You lie through your teeth," Bobby grumbled, pulling on his trademark trucker cap as he helped the boys out of the car, balancing Sam on his hip, as Dean shyly stuck to Bobby's side.

"You do, she doesn't," Bill laughed, walking down the steps to meet his friend. "Who are these little rascals?"

"This is Dean," Bobby said, rubbing Dean's back. "And Sammy."

Ellen smiled at both boys, before shifting Sam into her arms, making cute faces at him while he giggled happily at the new friend that was holding him.

Bill, on the other hand, gravitated toward Dean and got down on his level. "What do you say, Dean, you want to be my helper while you're here?"

Dean regarded the woman holding his brother. Distrust was written all over his face, but when he looked at Bobby and saw that he was not worried, he made the choice to turn back to Bill. He seemed nice enough, and he liked rock music.

"Okay."

"It's settled."

As the small group sat down to enjoy their lunch, Dean firmly stuck by Bobby's side as he quietly ate his sandwich, while making sure that his brother ate, too. It was touching to watch how in tune Dean was with his brother, and how protective over him he was, too.

"Is it okay if I leave them here until I talk to Caleb and Jim?" Bobby asked.

"Of course," Ellen said. "We're family, Bobby, and that includes these two now."

"It takes a load off my shoulders, I can tell you that."

It eased a lot of his worries, and it gave him a chance to track down Caleb or Jim and see how they wanted to proceed.

"Are you leaving?" Dean asked, looking up as Bobby got ready to leave.

"I'm afraid so, bud, but you're going to have a lot of fun with Ellen and Bill."

Dean did not like that answer, but true to form, he squared his shoulders and accepted the responsibility that was on him to make sure he was good, and that these people were good to him and his brother.

"Okay. I _guess_ you can go."


	12. Chapter 12

Watching with keen green eyes as Bobby drove away, Dean couldn't help the sense of fear that settled deep into his chest. It wasn't that he didn't _trust_ the people that Bobby had entrusted him with, it was the fact that it was possible that when Bobby left, he wouldn't come back.

First his mother, then his father, and now Bobby. Thankfully and luckily for him, Ellen and Bill more than made up for their absence, by their kind and inviting manner.

Ellen, with her knack for cooking, which she included Dean in, and Bill, with his loud and boisterous ways, quickly eased some of Dean's fears, as he tried to settle into a new kind of routine. He still didn't entirely trust them when it concerned his brother, and so he made sure to stick around Sammy.

First up was dinner, as Ellen patiently explained to her young audience how to make homemade pasta from scratch. Luckily, Dean was a quick study and in minutes, had the finer points of it down, as she helped him stir and mix a variety of ingredients together. Although Dean was quiet around them, he was eager to please and proud of his work.

"You guys, this is _delicious_ ," Bill moaned, his mouth already full to the brim with pasta, as he sprinkled some more cheese on it.

"Close your mouth," Ellen scolded, throwing Dean a secretive glance that made him roll his eyes.

"What, a man can't chew and talk at the same time?"

Ellen simply shook her head at his comment.

After that, Bill took the kids outside to expel all their energy and get them ready for bed. Sam stuck close to Dean's side, not feeling quite confident enough to venture out further with them.

"Do you want to play hide and go seek, Sammy?" Dean asked, bending down to his baby brother's level. "Can we play that?" He added, looking at Bill for his permission.

Even though this man wasn't his parent, or even his guardian, he had been taught by his father to always respect authority figures, no matter if they were new to the picture, or someone he had known his entire life.

"Sure, buddy, just be careful," Bill warned, "and stay close to the deck."

The Harvelles had a raised porch that had a wraparound deck to house barbecues and pool parties. Underneath the deck, a selection of friendly wildlife made their home.

Bill stood back, observing carefully as the two brothers hid from each other, or rather, Dean hid from Sam, while Sam confusedly looked around for his brother.

"He doesn't know how to play," Dean said, crawling out from underneath the deck.

"He'll learn once he's a little older," Bill promised. "In the meantime, do you want to head back up to the house? It looks like it might rain."

"Okay," Dean shrugged.

"Do you want to race back?" Bill asked, a smile gracing his features.

"Yeah!"

Safely gripping Sam so he wouldn't fall, Bill and Dean made a run for the house, seeing who would reach it first.

"I win!" Dean yelled, his little body jumping up and down in frenzied excitement. "Take that."

"You did," he agreed, pausing to catch his breath.

Upstairs, Bill staged an impromptu pillow fight, which all two kids enjoyed, before he settled Dean and Sam in their room, which they were sharing for security reasons, as well as for comfort.

"Goodnight, guys," Bill whispered.

"Can you please leave the light on?" Dean requested softly. "For Sammy." There was no way he wanted Bill to know that he wanted that security.

"Sure, bud," Bill smiled. "Sleep tight."


	13. Chapter 13

Caleb and Jim arrived early the next day. It had been a fun, albeit _terrifying_ experience for Dean, not knowing if the guys were okay or not, but when he saw them walk through the door behind Ellen, his fears instantly evaporated. In the day and a half since Bobby dropped them off, he had been petrified that something would happen to them, just like something had happened to his parents. Even though his mind had blurred some of the more traumatic moments from his mind, he could still remember certain things from the night his mother died, and it was not good.

It was a burden that had been (unwillingly) placed on his shoulders by the action of one demon, and the events that followed when he had been forced to endure a life on the road with his driven father. Now that the guys were back and he could _see_ they were okay, he could almost _feel_ some of the tension leave his body as he hopped down from the kitchen chair to greet them.

"You're _back_ ," he announced, running toward the guys when they dropped their stuff, and got down on the ground to properly greet the two boys.

Sam, not being quite as mobile as his big brother, made do with what he had, and wobbled toward the guys, before settling himself in Jim's lap. The pastor ran his hand through Sam's hair, and held him close. Sam, who had been hyper all morning, seemed to instantly settle down as his fingers absently played with Jim's shirt. Dean, for his part, immediately made himself at home on Caleb's knee. Almost immediately, Caleb's strong (yet comforting presence) filled his entire being. It was a soothing peace that he was still getting used to.

"Yeah, we are," Caleb said, balancing Dean on his knee. "Was everything okay?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, before nodding. "I made sure Sammy was good."

Caleb chuckled. "I'm sure you did a _great_ job, too."

Dean glowed with pride at the compliment. "Are we going home?"

It wasn't that he didn't like being at Ellen and Bill's-he _did-_ but he was far too used to his home in Blue Earth, and switching to yet another location, would have been too hard on his tiny brain.

"You bet. We just have to talk with them for a minute, and then we'll take off. Sound good?"

"Yeah."

Dean held onto Caleb when he shifted to a standing position. He did not want to let him go for anything, and he could tell from the way Sam had clung to Jim, he shared the same feeling his brother did. Setting against him for the moment, he accepted the small drink of soda Caleb let him have from his can. Jim did not like them to have anything of the sort, but Caleb sometimes made an exception for Dean on special occasions.

"Don't tell Jim," Caleb whispered, casting a look around for the pastor. He was standing off to the side, and was trying to avoid Sam's sneaky hand, which was trying to feed him dip.

"I won't," Dean replied seriously. "Scout's Honor."

* * *

Ellen took the boys outside to play while the guys gathered around the dining table to discuss what had taken place.

"What happened?" Bill demanded, passing around shots of Tequila.

"There were some signs of the demon, but they were mostly gone by the time we got there," Jim recalled, shaking his head. "But we searched around the area, the same signs Rufus was talking about? They were there. It was a madhouse in some spots."

"Yeah, it probably got the hint it had peeved off some hunters, and booked."

"With what we saw, it looked like it had _just_ been there," Caleb countered, shaking his head, before taking a sip of the alcohol. "But whatever it was, it was long gone by the time we made heads or tails of it." It was hard to forget what they had witnessed when they went to the afflicted areas. They were used to carnage in their line of work, but this was something on a bigger scale than they had ever seen.

Most demons had the same MO as far as patterns and behaviors were concerned, but this demon that singlehandedly destroyed Sam and Dean's lives, operated much differently than a regular demon. It caused fires. Its target were homes with infants in them, family's like the ones Sam and Dean had once upon a time. This same MO had been reported in parts of Sioux Falls, and Caleb could bet if he looked back further, he could find the same thing in other states.

"What are you thinking?" Bill inquired.

"How we're going to give these boys as much of a normal life as we can, while still making sure they're safe." It was a daunting task that Caleb was not sure how they would pull off. He wanted normal for them, but he pondered if that choice was reckless considering everything that happened.

"They start school soon," Jim pointed out. "Do we even _dare_ send them when this demon is out there?"

Bill shrugged, clearly not familiar with this predicament. "Is there any way one of you can be there when they're there?"

"Caleb can, but what if he _can't_ one day?"

"Just take it a day at a time."

That seemed to be the most logical answer that they could come up with. It was hard to figure out how to outwit the demon and not cause any harm to come to Sam and Dean.

"Thanks for taking the boys at such notice," Caleb said. "We really appreciate it."

"No problem," Bill said. "We're family."

* * *

The boys were more than thrilled to be finally ending their brief trip to Nebraska, and return home with the guys. It had been nice to meet new friends that he knew he would have for the rest of his life, but Dean was emotionally exhausted, as well as physically. He numbly allowed Jim to strap him into his car seat, and watched as Caleb carried a squealing Sam over to his. Leaning his head back, he fought the urge to close his eyes as the pastor finished strapping him in, and then gave Dean a tight hug. He knew Dean probably needed that comfort more than he would express. Dean sank against him, and Jim could see him struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Try to get some sleep, bud. You look exhausted."

"Am'ot," Dean slurred, but his closing eyes contradicted his claim.

Jim smiled, more than used to Dean's refusal to take care of himself at times. "We have a _long_ ride, so you better take advantage of it."

Dean nodded, not able to resist the appealing idea of sleep. "Can we watch..." he could not control the yawn that came from him. "Terminator?"

Dean had recently seen snippets of the movie, and had immediately taken a liking to the Terminator. He was a cool dude that saved people, and that was all that mattered in the five-year-old's eyes.

"How did you see _that_ movie?" Jim demanded, looking up after he had finished with the five-year-old. Sam was busy munching on animal crackers, but he knew they would have issues when it came closer to him falling asleep.

"I _might_ have let him watch a scene or two," Caleb admitted sheepishly. "I mean, I have _no_ clue at all!" He corrected himself under Jim's withering gaze.

The car ride back was long, and not uneventful. As predicted, once the sun started to slip below the horizon and bathed the occupants in a sea of darkness, Sam protested the idea of going to sleep in the position he was in. Before too long, his loud cries filled the car as he squirmed and struggled against the restraining touch of the car seat. Caleb sighed softly, and reached around to tickle Sam's knee. That did little to calm Sam down, as he desperately signed the word for 'sleep.'

"Me, sleep," Sam cried, looking at Caleb with those soulful eyes of his.

"I know, bud," Jim said, looking at him from the driver's side. "We'll be there before you know it. Try to go to sleep, okay?"

"No! _Sleep_ ," Sam countered, as though he could not understand how Jim could not see that he needed to be lying in his crib.

Switching AC/DC off, Caleb looked back at Dean and saw that he was trying to figure out how to comfort his little brother. Finally, Dean seemed to do what was instinctual to him, and he started talking to Sam about the movie he wanted to see. His animated descriptions of Terminator, and how cool he was, soon filled the car. And much to Caleb's relief, he could see that it was beginning to work on Sammy. Before long, his rigid motion started to relax, and he slumped against the seat.

His fingers soon reached out, and started to play with Caleb's fingers. In particular, his wedding ring. It was a soothing comfort for some reason for the baby, who needed to feel that physical touch before he fell asleep. Teasingly grabbing Sam's fingers, the young hunter could feel his heart swell with love for both boys. They were so different, and that was what he loved. Dean was the protector, the one who was far more mature than just five. And Sam was the one who was into everything, and who had boundless energy, and who also had no issue with seeking out comfort when he needed it. Dean, on the other hand, needed to be shown it was okay to have comfort, before he allowed it.

Settling back when Sam's grasp was loosened, he was glad he was asleep. It had been a crazy last few days, and he was anxious to get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triple chapter today :) See you Sunday!


	14. Chapter 14

_1 Year Later_

It had been a roller coaster year of emotions, ups and downs, highs and lows. It had been a little over a year since Caleb, Pastor Jim and Bobby Singer had taken over responsibility for Sam and Dean Winchester, following the death of their father, John Winchester. Each of the boys had been effected in different ways by the sudden death. Dean, however, had suffered through nightmares that had quickly transitioned into night _terrors_ , and had started to relive some of the more unsavory aspects of being on the road in times of play.

Sam had become clingy with the guys, especially Jim, and seemed to suffer through separation anxiety. Although, the guys were not quite sure if that was from the tragedy, or something normal related to his age. All in all, Caleb thought of the boys as having gone through the fire, and emerged on the other side. Side-effects from their father's death, was completely normal and to be expected. Especially for Dean, who used to hero-worship him, and looked up to him immensely.

Luckily for them, they had three guys who were both committed to raising him and Sam with as much love and normalcy as was possible in the life they lived in. Dean had learned to (slowly) open up more and more with the men in charge of his care. Especially Caleb, who he had always had a closer relationship with. Through his talks with his new guardian, some of his night terrors had ceased, and he no longer avoided talking about his father. Unless it was with someone _other_ than Caleb.

Their goal had been to raise the two boys as normal as possible. Something their father had been incapable of providing for them. And over the ensuing year, they had perfected a routine that enabled them to do just that. One of them was always home with the boys, and if that was not possible due to hunting and work, Bobby or the Harvelles were always willing to step up. Normalcy like that was practically _unheard_ of for active hunters, but they made it work.

It had been a nice thought.

Foe awhile, things had progressed normally. The boys got to have normal, and even had the chance to make some friends in the community. The guys were able to juggle their schedules, and provide stability that had been sorely lacking in their lives.

But life in the hunting world, no matter how loosely you were in it, always caught up to hunters in some way or another. It happened unexpectedly, and ended as soon as it happened.

Salt always lined the windows and doors in the bedrooms, a precaution that the guys thought was essential, especially in the boy's rooms, where anything could happen. The memory of the demon causing havoc around Sioux Falls, had not escaped from the conscious memory of either of the guys, and they were not eager to repeat that experience in their community. The salt was as much a deterrent as it was a symbol of peace for them, especially while Bobby was busy trying to figure out how to install special wards and sigils to ward off some of the more unsavory supernatural creatures.

Dean, one day, behaving like a naturally inquisitive six-year-old, had unknowingly ruined the line when he ran his dump truck over it, severing the precious peace that it represented. It had gone unnoticed for most of the day. Jim was at work, Caleb, taking Dean to meet up with some of his little friends he had made, and then making sure that Sam was fed and cared for in the hustle and bustle of the day.

"Okay, you ready to go take a nap?" Caleb asked, hauling Sam up and beginning to climb the stairs to his shared bedroom with Dean.

"I'm not tired," Sam giggled, throwing his hands up in confusion.

At two, he was forming words faster than the guys could keep up with. At this stage, they knew that any careless words would likely be repeated by the child. They had learned that when Dean accidentally used a light swear word in front of him.

"Oh, really? _Because_ ," Caleb said, tickling Sam's tummy. "Your yawn says something different."

Sam squealed with laughter, and batted Caleb's hands away. "Caleb, stop!"

When Caleb stepped over the blue carpeted threshold, the first thing he noticed was the glass shards on the window sill that was positioned almost exactly across from the crib. Even though his mind tried to reason it away, there was no other explanation other than what he had feared all along.

Heart hammering painfully in his ribcage, he safely deposited Sam in his crib, and walked further to examine the window. From his limited crime scene knowledge, he knew the shards had come from a thing breaking _in_ and not out. Either the evil was still there, or it had gotten what it came for, and left. He only had a split second to make a choice, and he knew the boys could not be there as long as there might be something.

"Damnit," Caleb swore under his breath, when he noticed the disturbed salt line.

His back had been to the closet when the doors had been eased open quietly, so as not to alert Caleb to the fact that there was another person in that room. The attack had come out of nowhere. The demon had leaped out, catching Caleb off-guard. Moving rapidly, it slammed Caleb's head against the dresser, knocking the wind out of him. Instead of trying to finish him off, he made a beeline for the crib. Sam clearly sensed something was wrong, and retreated to a far corner of the enclosed space. His hands reached for Caleb, who struggled to his feet. The hunter saw _red_ in his line of vision.

Reacting with cat-like reflexes he had honed from years of being in the life, he slammed into the intruder like a wrestler, and wrenched him away from the terrified toddler. For a minute, there was nothing but a tangle of limbs on the ground as the demon tried to gain the upper-hand over the hunter. Caleb, however, had no intention of letting that happen, and reached for anything he could. There was not much on him, apart from a hunting knife. He did not want to use it unless he had to. The demon, crazed with bloodlust, was doing anything it could to get away from Caleb's grip that had been strengthened from the adrenaline he was feeling. Lugging a few punches at the hunter's face, the demon managed to get Caleb off him, before Caleb reciprocated with a few punches of his own.

At last, the demon managed to gain the upper hand when it pulled a blade from behind it, and plunged it in Caleb's side. The hunter did not have the chance to respond to the assault, other than to pull the knife from his own side and fling it back at the demon. He hit his mark, but barely. The demon grinned, as though it were a game, and used his own strength to get Caleb on the ground. It was clear to the hunter that he would have to resort to what he did not want to.

Rolling out from under the demon when it cruelly put its hands around Caleb's neck to break it, he knew he was not breathing as he stood tall and prepared himself to do what he had done only a handful of times in the past. His eyes would not allow him to glance over at the crib, because he knew all his concentration would be lost and the demon would succeed in killing him.

Bruised and battered from being slammed around by the demon, he raised his hand, ready to begin the ancient ritual that had been passed down to him from countless generations of hunters. The demon, however, had other plans, and wound its hand around Caleb's throat until he began to see black. Trying to get the demon off him was absolutely useless, and it was then that he had no other choice but to do the last thing he wanted.

Fumbling for the knife that was in his back pocket, Caleb plunged it into the man's chest. It made him sick to do it, but he had no choice. When he did that, he could see when the demon made the choice to leave its host. One look at the man confirmed that he was dead. As much as he felt badly for the meat suit the demon possessed, he was far more relieved that the boys had been spared.

Shaking off the immediate shock that had settled over his heart, he crossed over to the crib and picked up the trembling toddler. Sam clung to him, beyond words for the first time ever, and just hugged him. Sliding down the wall, Caleb allowed himself to have this moment with the two-year-old, as he hugged him close. If he had dropped Sam off any earlier, the demon might have gotten to him. It was obvious that Sam had been the demon's target, and it terrified him.

"It's okay, Sammy, it's okay." The child had thick tears rolling down his cheeks, and his hand gripped Caleb's shirt in a tight fist.

"Me, scared," Sam cried, tucking his head under Caleb's chin.

Caleb could almost _feel_ his heart breaking. "I know, bud. I know. You're safe, okay? It's all over-"

" _Sammy_?"

His blood ran cold when he heard Dean's voice, usually curious, but now confused and frightened, as he took in the scene before him. Caleb hadn't had time to clean the body up in the few seconds since the attack ended.

"Dean-"

The child had a look of deep sadness, and deep fear that was etched on his face. In true Dean fashion, he shook it off in a second to make sure Sam was okay. His face was set, refusing to let himself feel what he must have. Caleb did not know the amount of exposure Dean had had to the supernatural, but he knew that they had _all_ fallen into a false sense of safety. When things had stayed quiet for as long as it had, Caleb let himself believe that their job would choose not to follow them home.

"What happened?"

* * *

The attack had scarred them _all_. Dean, being the most effected by what he had witnessed. It was the exact thing that the guys had wanted to avoid, and now that it had stared them in the face, they were at a loss as to how to explain to Dean what he had just seen.

"How's he holding up?" Jim asked, his hands folded in front of his face as he watched Caleb take a seat in front of him.

"Okay. He didn't want to sleep in that room again, so I put him in my room. He doesn't want Sammy sleeping in there, either. I set up the crib in there, and Dean and I are sharing the bed."

Jim nodded. "Good."

When he got the call from Caleb that something happened in the house, it had shaken him to his core. The pastor could remember the _last_ time a demon had broken into his home, and it was when he had lost his entire family in one fell swoop. First his wife, and then a few days later, his twins had followed. The memory of that time had permanently ingrained itself in his mind, and the last thing he wanted, was for history to repeat itself.

"What are we going to tell him?"

Caleb knew Dean had to know _something_ about the supernatural, but he sincerely doubted he had ever been exposed to something right in front of his face. Right after it happened, Dean's only concern had been for his brother. Even when Caleb had tried to cajole a response from Dean about how _he_ was doing after seeing the body and hearing the noise.

"I don't know."

Realistically, they knew that the time would have to come eventually when they told the boys about the supernatural world that their father had been embroiled in, and the legacy they had inherited from him. They just thought they would have more time before that dreaded conversation would have to take place.

"Let's go talk to him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They all knew the time would have to come when they eventually told Dean about the supernatural...they just didn't think it would have to happen the way it did.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean was playing quietly in the living room, his green eyes avoiding the staircase where he knew the bedrooms were. He wasn't ready to venture up there yet, even though he had been assured he wouldn't have to sleep in that room again. He knew bad things existed in the world. His father had taught him that. However, he had never seen seen it up close before, and had never known what evil looked like. And to know that it had come close to hurting his guardian and brother? It was more than he could process.

Swallowing thickly, the child turned back to the action figures he was playing with. Making small sounds to imitate explosions, he tried not to think about what he had walked into just a little while ago. It had been scary, and what happened after. Even though Caleb had found something for he and Sam to do while he made some phone calls to the right people, Dean had still witnessed the police come and some people that took the dead person out of the house.

And then there was Caleb's injury. That was probably the one thing that upset Dean the _most_. Even though his guardian had tried to cover it up, Dean's eyes had still caught a glimpse of the blood that was on his shirt, and the gash on his side. He wasn't sure what happened, but he if he had to guess, he would say that it probably came from the person that was in Sam's room. The police had tried to get Caleb to get help for it, but he refused. Dean could not understand why until after Jim came home, and was able to patch him up.

Heaving a sigh, he looked over at his brother. Sam was watching a movie, and also playing with some of his stuffed animals. He was trying to make them do the same things he was observing in the animal movie he was watching. Glancing back at the kitchen, he had a perfect view of the guys as they spoke in the kind of hushed tone that let the intuitive six-year-old know that he was not supposed to overhear. Turning back to what he was doing, he pushed down all he was feeling, and focused on being brave. Caleb had tried to get him to talk after he found the body, but his words had been frozen in his brain, and they still were.

"Dean?"

He looked up. He must have missed it when Caleb and Jim decided to come into the family room. They settled themselves on the floor next to him, though Dean did not miss it when Caleb winced when he sat down. They wore the same looks of love and comfort they had worn for a year, but there was something different about the way they were looking at him, as though they were preparing to give him bad news. The only time Dean could remember that look, was when his father sat him down and told him his mother had gone to be with the angels. And before that, when his mother told him his father had left for a few days.

A look like the one they were giving him, was generally not something good, and it scared him. Of course, he would never express that openly. Maybe, he figured, he would if Caleb was the one to put him to bed. He always found it easier to talk to Caleb, and that was why he looked forward to the times it was just the two of them. Even though he was incapable of projecting words, he still could not resist the urge to crawl closer to his guardian. Careful of Caleb's injury, he settled himself in his lap.

Sam had torn his eyes away from the movie, and had come over to see what the commotion was about. His eyes lit up when he saw his family, and he made a quick move for Jim. The two of them had formed their own sweet bond, and Dean was happy that his brother had someone he could look up to and love like a father. He knew that Sam would not have too many memories of their own father.

"Hi."

He bowed his head, and focused on arranging his Batman action figure to better compete with the other action figures on the ground. He did not object when Caleb's hand rubbed his back, before teasingly ruffling his hair. He wanted to know more about what he had seen, but he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam pulling on Jim's tie, his face breaking out into an uneasy smile. Sam had been unusually quiet since the incident.

"Can you look at us for a minute, bud?" Jim prodded, his voice gentle.

Dean acquiesced, looking up at his guardians with a wary expression on his face, no doubt ready to hear whatever other bad news they were about to deliver, but mostly he was curious as to what they were going to say. How could you explain something like that? How could they explain away the blood, the glass, and the body of the man that had a knife in his chest?

Even _Dean_ couldn't explain it.

"Do you understand what you saw today?" Caleb prompted, and when Dean looked into his eyes, he saw nothing but pain and dread.

"No..."

Dean was surprised at how soft his voice sounded. He couldn't remember a time when he had been _so_ confused. Maybe when his mother and father had died, but everything before six, was a little blurry. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to rid his mind of the images that were assaulting his mind again.

"There are...there's things, Dean, in this world, that are bad. There's things that _look_ like people who are bad. And we...we didn't want you or your brother to have to know about them for a very long time." Everything Jim was saying to him, made no sense at all. How could someone look like a person, and yet not be one? He chewed on that information for a minute.

"What...what are they?"

"That man in your bedroom," Caleb explained. "There was something _inside_ of him that was controlling him. If he had been in his right mind, he would have never done what he did."

"You mean, if he had listened to his Mommy and Daddy?"

Caleb smiled. "That's right, bud." Dean settled against Caleb, and lazily traced invisible lines in Caleb's arm. "That man, he was a good person, Dean."

"But he hurt you!" Dean protested, turning his body around to face Caleb's forcibly calm gaze. When he did that, he caught another look at Caleb's side. Jim had cleaned it out, and stitched it up.

"He did," Jim agreed, finally taking his tie off to let Sam play with it. This conversation was too important to be distracted. "But just like Caleb said, there was something that was controlling him. What that means is...think about when you play with your toys, Dean." Jim gestured to the toy in Dean's hand. "You control everything that toy does, right? That's kind of what that man was going through. He wasn't in control."

Dean arched his head to the side, struggling to make sense of what he was being told. Some of it made sense, but most of it sounded like something out of a cartoon, something that was firmly fiction. He let his mind sit with that conundrum while he allowed Sam to have one of his toys. Sam was delighted, and eagerly started making the same sounds he had heard Dean making with the action figure. If there was one thing he was happy about, it was that Sam had not retained the same confusion that he felt.

"Why?"

"There's different...different _bad_ things in this world. One of those bad things had the power to control him like that. Kinda like your toys, and kind of like a puppet," Caleb explained. "These...these... _creatures_ have been around for a long time." He hesitated to use the word "demon" with a child, but he knew that was what it was. "We know about a lot of them, but there's probably a dozen others out there."

Understanding had settled itself in Dean's heart, and it scared him more than he could say. It must have shown on his face how terrified he was, because he could see the look on Jim's face, and he could feel Caleb's strong arms envelop him in a tight hug from behind. Even Sam had stopped playing, and had tilted his head to the side in confusion, as he tried to perceive what was wrong with his big brother. Swallowing thickly, he accepted the hug, and the toy Sam held out for him.

"Here, D, toy."

Dean smiled, though it took effort. "Thank-thanks, Sammy."

Sam seemed satisfied he had helped Dean, and went back to playing on Jim's lap. There was something that was bothering Dean, and it all had to do with what the guys had just explained to him, and what he could remember from when he had been with his dad. Much of it was blurry, but something had come from the deep recesses of his mind.

"Is that why Mommy died?"

"Yes," Caleb confirmed, pressing a kiss to the top of Dean's head. "One of them...one of them caused that to happen."

It made sense with what he had overheard his father talking to different people about. Something evil had caused his mother to die, and Dean could guess that was what his father meant.

"Were they here before _I_ was born?"

Caleb nodded, his brown eyes filling with tears. "T-they were, bud." This conversation was more than cruel, in Caleb's mind, and he could not believe they were in the position of having to do it.

"One thing you _have_ to know, Dean," Jim explained, "is that there are many different forms these creatures take. They don't always use a human to do the job, sometimes there are other forms they take."

"We know how to guard against _most_ of them," Caleb quietly supplied. "But you need to know how to protect yourself against them if one of us isn't here for some reason."

"And Sammy," Dean pointed out. "I need to know how to protect _Sammy_." That was his job, and although the guys had taken a lot of that responsibility off his shoulders, that desire had never left his mind. And now that he knew what was out there? There was no way he wanted to leave his brother without someone to protect him.

"That's right," Caleb said, "but you don't have to worry about him. We can do that, bud, but when you two are alone, it's good that you'll know some of this."

There were so many questions blazing through Dean's mind that he did not have the emotional energy to voice them all. There _was_ one question that he had, and it concerned his father.

"What about Daddy?"

"A...a special type of thing hurt him. It wasn't the thing that broke in today."

His entire family wiped out by the actions of these creatures that inhabited a world that Dean hadn't had the slightest inkling even existed. It was a hard truth to be reconciled with, especially for someone his age.

"Dean, just know, we'll _always_ be honest with you," Jim said. "Whatever you need to know, we'll tell you."

He had so many questions that he wasn't sure he could voice all of them. Most of the words were on the tip of his tongue, but still beyond him. One thing he _did_ know? Was that he wanted to fight them like he had seen Caleb do.

"I wanna fight them." He reached for his toy again, and started playing with it. "I wanna fight them like J.J McQuade."

If there was one thing he knew, it was that simple truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later update today. Oops. The day got away from me!


	16. Chapter 16

While knowing that training him was _absolutely_ essential, the guys were still hesitant to train him with any guns or combat, though they knew that basically consisted of the entire training session he would go through.

Improvising as best he could, Caleb set up a series of beer cans along the fence line, and handed Dean a BB gun, something that still held power and control, but a weapon that would be much kinder on Dean's still-growing bones.

"You see those cans, bud?"

Dean nodded, squinting his eyes at the targets only a few feet from him. "Yeah."

"Okay, keep your eye on them."

Dean nodded, never breaking his focus with the cans, as he weighed the power of the gun in his hand. It was light, but considering what it held inside, it felt ten pounds heavier all of a sudden.

"Now what?"

"Now..."Caleb hesitated, before speaking again. "Ease your finger over the trigger."

His heart was pounding in his ribcage as he watched the six-year-old place his finger over the trigger. It was a sight that he never should have been witness to, as he helped Dean properly position the gun.

"Can I shoot it?"

"Not yet. You have to make sure that you have in your sight what you're aiming for. You can't shoot the gun when you're not one hundred percent sure of what you're shooting."

Dean nodded. "The gun is pointed at the cans."

"Okay, good. Now, fire off a shot. _Carefully_."

Watching with bated breath as Dean slowly pressed down on the light trigger, he tried not to think about how wrong it was that a six-year-old was shooting off a gun like that.

The shot went off without a hitch, and to Caleb's complete astonishment, hit the target. For a first timer, Dean had successfully hit his first target. He could remember the slight disagreement he and Jim had over allowing this, but they both had seen the need to train Dean.

The gun still had enough rounds in it to finish off the rest of the cans, and Dean, feeling an adrenaline rush from the first go round, eagerly pressed down on the trigger again, eager to finish his work.

By the time all the cans were down on the ground, Dean had fired off all the rounds. Caleb, finally able to breathe again, relished the smile on Dean's face. It was the first smile he had seen on his face in quite awhile, as he patted him on the shoulder. "Good job."

"Did you see that? I did a Chuck _Norris_ on those suckers."

Walking back to the house with a spring in his step, Dean swung himself into the kitchen chair, his activity that morning, working up quite an appetite as Caleb prepared sandwiches and soup for him.

"Did you like it?" Caleb pressed, sitting across from him, carefully studying Dean's face for any signs of stress or discomfort.

"Yeah! When can I learn more?"

" _Later_ ," Caleb stressed. "We want to ease you into this _slowly_."

There was no point in pushing training when he would likely be with one of them at all times anyway. The only time when he would need to know any of that, would be when he was at school, or even at a friend's house.

"Okay," Dean groaned. "When can I punch something?"

Caleb laughed, shaking his head. "Let's work on the guns for awhile. This isn't normal, what you're learning, and I want you to have _normal_ , too."

"I know."

Even though he may not have known it, Caleb could still see that he was enjoying the high that such an accomplishment had given him, and it was his job to reel him in.

They sat for awhile in silence. Each mulling over their own thoughts, and enjoying their lunch. Dean was the first one to break the silence, as he met Caleb's brown eyes with his hazel ones.

"I don't think Sammy needs to know about this."

Caleb nodded. "I think you're right."

It was bad enough that Dean had been forced into this life, taking along another victim was the last thing he felt like doing.

"And if that demon comes back, I don't want Sammy to be in that room anymore."

"I know."

There had been discussion about what to do about Sam and Dean's room, there had even been talk of moving just to make the kids feel safer. Even Sam had begun having nightmares once in awhile.

"Maybe you can make us another room?"

Caleb chuckled. "Well, maybe it would be better if we just moved to a new house."

It would give him a chance to put up new wards and sigils that this house didn't have, and also give him a chance to add some new additions, as well.

"Really?"

Caleb nodded. "Really."


	17. Chapter 17

The first day of kindergarten. For many kids, it was an exciting, but nerve-wracking time as they adjusted to new friends, and a whole new learning setting. Some handled the change better than others, and some were understandably nervous about being away from home.

For Dean, he still had those normal fears running through his veins, but his fears were also, strangely unique, as he studied the tenseness of his guardians, and how _they_ were reacting to the upcoming school year.

He could sense that Caleb and Jim were uneasy about him going to school, but for the most part they tried to keep him out of their arguments about it, and to themselves.

"What if something happens?" Caleb demanded. "A demon _already_ broke into the house, almost got Sam."

"But we can't keep them from having normal experiences when they can," Jim pointed out. "We're moving, we're throwing any trail the demon has on us, out the window."

"It's _still_ dangerous," Caleb said. "They could still target Dean, or any class full of kids, because they're vulnerable, they won't know what we know."

It seemed like a reckless decision. And Caleb could not contain the flashback he had to the _last_ disagreement he and Jim had over the boys. That one had to do with him training Dean. It had been a tense discussion that had ultimately ended with a compromise.

Jim got up, pacing the tight space of the kitchen, past the boxes of dishes they had already packed up, and back to face Caleb. "We could arm him, prepare him."

"Are you _so_ willing to risk his safety that you'd still send him? He doesn't know how to use a knife, and I'm sure that a gun would be about as visible as those Scooby snacks he likes."

In the end, it was decided that they would pay a little more for the one, small private school in the area, and Caleb would go beforehand and scope the area out, make sure no one was lurking unseen.

He also stayed for the four hours that class was in session, keeping guard in the hallway, ignoring the curious stares of other parents and guardians, who no doubt wondered why he was there.

When he sneaked a glance in the classroom, though, any of his fears were erased when he saw the grin on Dean's face, as he helped the teacher pass out drinks and snacks to the other kids, and also paid special attention to the young girl that was there.

Helper. Dean had always loved helping, and it was perfect that the teacher had sensed that, and had given him a job to do.

Taking a seat on the bench outside, Caleb leaned back, pressing his head against the wall to wait for the class to end. It was a compromise that had worked for both of them.

That night at dinner, Dean was full of energy, describing his first day of school, and how all the kids, while different, seemed to like him, and the teacher who had made him her special assistant.

"We're glad you had a good time," Jim said, not able to keep back a smile at how ecstatic Dean was. "And you know what?"

"What?" Dean asked, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

"You'll be able to go to that school when we move to our new house."

" _Really_?"

"Really."

Wanting some of the attention his brother had claimed, Sam toddled over to his brother's side of the table and shoved a drawing in his hand.

"He made that while you were gone," Jim explained.

"I like it, Sam," Dean said, bending down to give his brother a hug. "Thanks!"

"Yow welcome," Sam said, in typical toddler speak.


	18. Chapter 18

Moving to a new home, a new location when he had been in Blue Earth for so many years, was a daunting task for Jim. It wasn't that he wasn't used to moving around a lot for his hunting jobs, but finding a new home base was something that he hadn't had to contemplate in years.

However, he recognized it as absolutely essential. The first time evil broke in his home, he had been a naive pastor. That had cost him the lives of his wife and his son and daughter.

For Sam, it was an adventure.

For Dean, another reminder of what he had lost. The facets of his life, already so precarious, now dealing another blow as he had to relocate to a new town.

At least he could keep the same private school that he had grown to love, and the same friends he had grown used to.

Packing up and moving wasn't ideal for anyone. It was a strain logistically, emotionally (especially for the boys), and financially, but all that was easily managed, as long as they could have a secure place to call home.

The little town they were moving to wasn't far from Blue Earth, enabling Jim to keep his job, as well as Caleb's. It was only a half hour from Blue Earth, and very secluded, no one knew much about the town, and that's what Jim liked. He hoped it would be far enough to throw the demon off their tails.

"What do you guys think?" Caleb asked, looking out the window at their new, two story home. It wasn't much larger than the one they had been in previously, but the layout was better, more open than the previous one.

"House!" Sam said, pointing excitedly at the structure. "Me, play!"

"I like it," Dean said simply.

The six-year-old was _not_ about to let himself get too attached when it could be taken away. He liked it, and he was even tempted to be excited, but that would have to wait until he was sure they were staying. Sam did not share any of his fears, and was excited at being able to play somewhere new.

The house also boasted a backyard big enough for the boys to play in, and for the family to have backyard cookouts during hot summer days.

"It will be an adjustment," Jim warned, "but this house is bigger, it's more open for you kids to run, and it's also _safer_."

"I like it," Dean said again, resting his chin on the door. "Sammy and I are going to share a room, right?"

Dean wanted his own room eventually, but for the first few nights, he wanted to know his brother was close.

Initially, Jim and Caleb had put the boys together after John's death to make them both feel more secure and safe, in a world that had constantly changed for both of them.

Now that it had been a year since John had died, and they had settled into a familiar routine, the boys, Dean especially, were feeling more independent.

"If that's what you want,"Caleb assured him.

"I want my own room in awhile. Sammy likes to get in my stuff."

"Alright, bud," Caleb said with a laugh. "You got it."

Caleb was also glad for the fresh start, it gave him a chance to install preventative security measures around the place, enabling the kids' safety.

For the stairs, he attached baby gates to the walls so Sam couldn't climb up or down without supervision. For the cupboards, especially ones that housed chemicals, he put locks on them.

Now came the fun part. Decorating the boys' rooms.

Dean, being the superhero fan that he was, wanted all Batman, and maybe a sprinkling of Chuck Norris.

Sam, being into trains and other machines like that, wanted a train and car themed room.

It was fun forming their rooms into what they wanted. A small luxury they could have in the face of so much doubt and danger.

"When do we get to sleep in our rooms?" Dean asked, one night.

While their rooms had been undergoing renovations, the guys had made temporary sleeping quarters in the living room. Something the boys thought was fun, but the fun had clearly been wearing off.

"Soon," Jim promised. "Tomorrow night."

Dean smiled. "I can't wait."


	19. Chapter 19

You'll be in the next room?" Dean demanded, looking at Caleb.

"I promise, bud," Caleb assured him, kneeling down beside him at his bed. "And Jim will be down in the basement working, okay?"

Dean nodded. "And Sammy's in the room across from me?"

"Yes."

It was so typical of Dean to want to make sure he knew where everyone was-it was a coping method, and it was also a way to make sure that the people he loved, were safe.

Dean reached underneath him and pulled out a Batman nightlight. "Can you plug this in for me?" Jim had slipped the nightlight to him that day, something to make him feel more at ease in a new home.

"Absolutely. Did Jim give this to you?"

Dean nodded, sucking on his bottom lip. "So I won't be afraid. I'm _not_ ," he added, "I just want it."

Caleb nodded, thinking over his next words. "It's okay to be afraid sometimes, Dean, it's actually healthy."

Dean shook his head defiantly. "Daddy wasn't."

Dean was fiercely protective of his late father-he held onto personal mementos as though they were prized possessions, which in a way, they were.

Caleb was glad that Dean could have that small piece of his father left. He wanted both boys to revel in their parent's memory as much as they possibly could. For Sam, he would rely almost exclusively on the memories his brother and guardians had.

"I'm sure _even_ your father was," he gently contradicted. "He was only human, after all."

Dean nodded, though Caleb could tell he was still unsure of it all. "Good...night," he slurred sleepily, his little body already curling up on its side to enjoy his sleep.

"Goodnight, bud."

"Thanks for my room."

"You're more than welcome."

Caleb was glad Dean had that room to call his own. So many things he had no control over, he was glad that Dean could have had a say in where he slept and what it looked like.

His next stop once he had left Dean's room, was to check on Sam in the room across from it. Sam was already asleep, his little chest rising and falling gently.

Smiling, Caleb gently closed the door and went to his office downstairs. The new office housed everything, from Dean's (and soon to be Sam's), school records, to their drawings, and different files related to their cases.

"Someone made a jail escape," Jim announced the next morning over coffee.

"Sam?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep, found him wandering around the hall this morning when I got up."

"Think it's time we get him a toddler bed?"

"Yeah."

All in all, their first night in the house had gone smoothly. Sam hadn't made a peep, neither had Dean. The nightlight had remained plugged in, and his slumber had been peaceful.

"Hi," Dean said, leading Sam down the stairs by his hand.

"Morning," Caleb said, getting up and helping Sam into his high chair. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," Dean shrugged, sliding into his customary seat next to Sam. "Sammy liked his new room, right?"

Beside him, Sam nodded. "Room!"

The guys chuckled, shaking their heads in bemusement. "I'm glad it worked out."

"It did."


	20. Chapter 20

Show me how to make a fist," Caleb instructed one afternoon.

Dean had proved to be a natural at shooting off the guns, so Caleb had, hesitantly, moved on to harder, hand-to-hand combat.

"Like this?" Dean asked, making his best approximation of a fist as he showed Caleb.

"Close," Caleb assured him, when he saw his face fall slightly. "Here, let me show you."

Gently gripping Dean's hand, he angled his wrist down into the proper position. It was hard enough to perfect the positions on _yourself_ , but when he was teaching a child, it made it all that much harder.

"Like this?" Dean asked, looking up at him for his approval.

"Good. Now, punch the bag and show me what you can do."

This was Dean's favorite part of the afternoon-he loved whaling on the punching bag in the basement. It released all of his built up anger, and gave him an outlet for when he was frustrated.

After a few minutes of watching Dean punch the bag, Caleb moved in front of him. Dean immediately backed off like he had been taught.

"How did I do?"

Caleb smiled. "Excellent job, dude."

Dean simply beamed with pride the way he did whenever one of the adults offered him a compliment or gave him an important task. "What's next?"

"You want to work on your aim with the gun?"

"Sure."

The boys loved it when the guys took time off work to indulge them in some activities. The Church Jim was working at, was offering a family day that Sunday, complete with a petting zoo and face painting games.

"Do you want to ride the horse?" Caleb asked, looking at Dean.

"That's for babies," Dean said, wrinkling his nose. "Maybe Sammy does, though."

In Caleb's arms, Sam nodded.

It was a nice change from their usual, scheduled routine. It was nice to see the boys interact with kids their own age, and see them enjoy regular games and fun.

"Can I have a clown face?" Dean asked,

"Sure, bud," Caleb said, walking over to the face painting station with him. "You have to hold still, though."

"I _know_ ," Dean said, with a roll of his eyes.

Once the artist was done with his work, he spun Dean around to face his family. Sam, not knowing that it was his brother, immediately let out a wail, while Caleb chuckled at Dean's drastically altered appearance.

"Sammy," Dean said, looking startled at his brother's reaction. "It's _me_." Reaching out, he tickled his brother's neck, something that he always did to tease Sam.

That seemed to appease Sam, who's tears calmed down a little.

"What do you think Sam would like to do?" Caleb asked.

"He likes animals," Dean said, "maybe he'd like to pet the goats?"

It was worth a shot-carrying him over to the animal pen, Caleb leaned foreword, allowing Sam the chance to reach inside and pet one of the animals.

Giggling, Sam reached inside and gently pet the eager animals.

"That's my goat!" Sam announced, perhaps getting a little _too_ carried away, as he gripped the goat's fur.

Caleb smiled, trying to gently extricate Sam's hand from its rough hold. "You have to be gentle, Sam. Okay?"

Sam nodded seriously. "Okay."

"What are you guys doing?" Jim asked, appearing for the first time that afternoon.

"Petting the animals," Dean said, "Sammy likes them."

"I see that. Do you think he'll turn into one?"

"Yes," Dean said with a laugh. "He looks like one, anyway."


	21. Chapter 21

_**Epilogue** _

It was very hard to put into words all that had happened in the year since John Winchester had been killed. Not only had Jim and Caleb been forced to help Sam and Dean through the shock of losing their only remaining parent, but they had also had to step into that role themselves. They would never replace the memory of John or their mother, but they would provide them with a family that adored them. A family that would thrive through the best (and worst) times imaginable. A family that would spoon out love in doses, and provide stability.

Sitting around a soaring bonfire in the back of the Harvelles property, the guys were pretty sure that this was as close to heaven as it got. Pulling Dean close, Caleb could not believe how much Dean had grown in the year or so since he lost his father. He still had occasional nightmares, but those had started to become few and far between the good nights he had. He still avoided directly talking about John, unless it was just him and Caleb, and he still acted out certain moments in play, but Caleb could see a huge change in his demeanor.

As for Sam? Caleb could not control the laugh that came from inside him when he noticed the child stuff an entire marshmellow into his face. Luckily for him, it was one of the few that had not been toasted to a fine crisp. Pulling Sam into his lap, Caleb allowed the young child to settle against him as they watched the flames burn. It had been a long day of playing, swimming, and finally getting to have this bonfire to top it off. Running his hand through Sam's hair, it was hard not to think about the leaps and bounds he had made in recent months. He was talking more, if only slightly, and seemed bound and determined to teach Dean a few things about playing.

Dean, for his part, tolerated it. He was just that way with him; always willing to be of service and let Sam control the show for a little while. Opening his mouth when Dean directed a piping hot marshmellow in his direction, he controlled the wince that was wanting to come out when the hot food burned his mouth. Shaking it off, he allowed Dean to lay his head on his shoulder. He was exhausted from the events of the day, and Caleb knew it would be an easy bedtime for both of them.

Looking around at the people who were situated around the fire, the feeling of _peace_ was almost foreign to him. He would do anything for the people around him, and he knew they would do the same. Jim Murphy, arguably his best friend in the world, and the one who held custody of the boys, was chatting with Ellen about something to do with the baby she was expecting around the first of the year. It would be nice for Sam, especially, to have a little playmate. Meeting the gaze Jim gave him, Caleb knew they were bonded in a way that few others were. Caleb had gotten shared custody of the boys, but it was only in the legal sense of the word. In reality, he knew they both had it together one hundred percent.

Swiveling his gaze to Ellen and Bill, Caleb knew without a doubt that they had _family_ for the rest of their lives. Family did not always end with blood. While he had always been a firm subscriber to that notion, it was engrained in his head for the rest of his life. Ellen was the type of person who he _knew_ would become, at the very least, a surrogate aunt to the boys. And at best? A mother figure to them. Bill, without question, would be the goofy uncle that would do things that neither he or Jim would agree with. And more often that not, would spoil the boys rotten. Especially Dean, who he seemed to have taken a strong liking to in the few days the boys had stayed with them while their custody was being arranged.

The custody battle had (thankfully) been solved in a matter of days. The tipping point had come when a child psychologist testified that it would be "detrimental" to the health and wellbeing of the boys to be separated from the guys. While Caleb wholeheartedly agreed with her statement, it still surprised him when a judge immediately agreed. Anyone with eyes could see the love that surrounded Sam and Dean.

The _bigger_ issue that caused a deep sigh to come from the young hunter, was the question of their home. After a demon had destroyed their sense of peace in Blue Earth, the guys had considered abandoning the way of life they had committed to raising the boys in, and going on the road. It had been an appalling idea, but one that seemed to be the most logical. That was, until, Bobby had reminded them that he could install the kinds of things that were seldom seen in most normal homes. A safeguard of sorts, something to make them feel better.

Caleb was banking on that. The boys had gone through enough in the last year and a half to last them forever, and the last thing he wanted was for them to have any other reason to have fear inside of them. Lounging back, he was glad he and Jim had this quality time with the boys while Bobby stayed back in Minnesota to work on their home. After he was done, he would join them for the last leg of their trip. It was the best of both worlds, and Caleb knew he was not alone in knowing the relief it would bring to have a stable place to go back to.

Staying in one place was risky, no matter which way he looked at it. If it wasn't the supernatural side of things that would almost certainly come knocking, it was the more human aspect of it that scared him. Hunting was not exactly a known job, and it brought with it the risk that he or Jim would be caught by police. For the most part, he had managed to fly under the radar, but he knew his luck could only go so far if he chose to stay in Minnesota. Sooner or later, something would happen.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, his mouth full of hotdog.

No doubt, he had caught the contemplative look on his guardian's face. Even though Dean was nearly half asleep, he still had it in him to finish the hot dog that was on his plastic plate.

"Yeah, I'm good, bud." Caleb leaned down and kissed the top of his head, before gently taking the food away when his eyes finally closed.

And he _was_ good. For that moment in time, everything was perfect. They had an amazing support system, and the promise of a good life once their house was finished with its special modifications. Caleb could not account for what might happen if his hunting life was detected by the police, but he knew they would cross that bridge if and when they came to it. For right then? He was determined to soak in as much of the good stuff as he could.

Through the years, he knew they would face challenges like none other, but as long as they stayed close to each other, it would be worth it in the end. Watching as the last dregs of sun slipped below the cover of trees, he was almost sad for this time to come to an end. However, he knew that come morning, they would be at it again with something else that was outlandish.

This time was precious, and in the coming months and _years_ , they would face challenges of both the supernatural and legal kind that would threaten their sense of peace, and make them question everything they ever knew about the world and the way it conducted itself. For right then? That was the furthest thing from their minds, as this small family breathed in the bliss that came from their bond with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Missing ): It seemed right to end it here. I have also decided that I will not make this into one big story. Instead, I will take my time with the sequel, and whenever I can post it and have much of it written, that is what I will do. I adore this family, and I almost watch the show and imagine Sam and Dean having had that life because it's what they deserved all along. I hope that I will see old and new reviewers come along with me in the future installments of this story.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is my baby, and originally spanned several books. However, because of writing block and a lot of anxiety around starting new things, I may just end up making this into a gigantic piece. What I do know, is that come hell or high water, I will finish this series.


End file.
